#source: a court of feels and ships

[acotarxreader]

The Sea's Call

Azriel x Reader

Synopsis: You belonged to the sea in every and all sense of the statement. Pirating the seas was just who you were and you loved it, its where you belonged until a pesky Spymaster takes an interest in your activity, quickly finding himself captivated by you in more ways than one.

Warnings: Flirty back and forth, snark, angst, near drowning, seasickness, light smut, enemies to lovers to omg could this be mates!?!?!?!?!? Rough editing (its exam season yall)

A/N: Hello! For this to make sense lets pretend that Azriel was with Amren and Feyre when they went to get the Book of Breathings! hehe, okay sound good? good!

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The feeling of solid ground beneath your boots was always a source of discomfort for you, a child of the sea would never feel at home on the solid soil of Prythian. Rarely did you leave the comfort of the ship you captained, only coming to shore for the more lucrative deals. Passing through Adriata, you felt yourself admiring the shimmering buildings, catching yourself in an instant and banishing away the thought. You practically counted the cobblestones back to the port, where a smaller sailboat would bring you back to your floating home. You passed a building that was in the process of being rebuilt, the whole city still practically on stilts after Amarantha’s reign of terror, the stories your crew told you enough to keep you awake at night. 

“Excuse me” A broad, winged male apologises as he gently bumps into your shoulder, your cloaked head unlifting from your course home as you pass. Never noticed, never seen, the main attribute that landed you at the helm of one of the most infamous ships at sea.

Through the crowded area before the final dock, tradespeople called from their port, customers eager to obtain the precious goods they brought from their travels. You quietly noted who sold what and for how much, marking their ship's colours in the back of your mind for later. You chuckled lightly to yourself at the plethora of unassuming fae, all ripe for the rip-off at the hands of these merchants, their financial gain ultimately trickling into your own. A sudden shudder shot up your spine as you found your feet instinctively taking you to shield yourself behind the canopy of one of the port side stalls. A large crowd of people stood in awe and fear as Tarquin transversed the crowd, a female in Night Court clothing on his arm with Cresseida and the Lord of Night following closely behind. You sneered at the sight of the foursome, playing Court to the crowds and clearly winning favour with all. 

“How am I going to pass by their giant egos?” You scoffed quietly to yourself for no one to hear. 

“I know the cape is a bit overkill on the Lord of Night Court’s part” You laughed lightly at the comment that came from the warm voice behind you, your movement then stilling completely. On the ball of your foot, you turned to face the wall-like male who you had passed earlier. Azriel raised an eyebrow to you, clearly feeling cocky he had caught you off guard, something that made you feel bare. Your eyes fell briefly on the Night Court emblem on his chest, its gleaming blue goldstone flickering in the unrelenting Summer sun. 

“Shouldn’t you be part of the other swans?” You asked boldly, your hood still slightly obscuring your full face, a smirk dashing for a moment across Azriel’s face. 

“Not my style, besides, who would keep an eye on the ones who normally avoid all observation?” 

“I know know what you’re implying sir” You did your best impression of the confused damsel, the type you were sure Azriel spent countless nights with before you turned away to head into the flowing crowd, the royal four now nearly at the exit of the port marketplace. Azriel caught hold of your wrist, the leather of his glove crinkling under the light pressure on your skin. You turned to watch him lift your own hand between you both, his eyes falling on the toughened skin before sweeping away your hood. Azriel swallowed what gasp rose in his throat, trying to stay with his feet on the shore as your marine blue eyes seemed to flicker back iridescence. 

“A seafarer?” He questioned gesturing with his head to your waterworn digits. 

“I dabbled briefly” You lied, taking your hand back from him and a step to put some distance between you. 

“What brings you to shore? You don’t seem to have a stall here? Or not one that I see that hasn’t recoiled on sight of you?” He quizzed, the mystery prickling along every nerve. 

“Maybe I’m a tough of a boss?” 

“I don’t doubt that somehow” he laughed as you fought to not show your offense. 

“I have no business with the Night Court right now, no cause for this line of questioning” You bristled, turning your back on the Illyrian and striding away, the end of the dock in sight. You thought of your contact waiting beneath the boardwalk, you unable to meet him with the Night Court’s Spymaster breathing down your neck. 

“Interesting how you said right now. What previous business had you with my cour?t” He called out to you, stopping you in your tracks. You balled your face into a knot, rookie rookie mistake you cursed yourself. The sound of the rising tide crashed beneath the tall boardwalk. Beneath the gnarly warped boards, you could make out the silhouette of your contact, gently swaying back and forth between the slats of the wood. The end of the unfenced dock now a mere metre away.

“I meant… I’m always open to business with all courts, perhaps we have business to agree to down the line” You lied again, the business you occupied yourself with would never be agreed to by any Court inner sanctum. 

“I somehow doubt the business you deal with would be in the interest of my Court unless it is to stop it?” Azriel’s voice danced the line between playful and arrogant ease similar to that of a cat with a cornered mouse. 

“I spoke out of line sir, I have nothing to offer anyone, I was simply shopping for wares for presents” You decided to change tacts entirely. 

“And the large bag of rare gems and crystals you have in your shoe, is that the payment for these invisible presents?” 

“How di-” You cut off your own question, Azriel’s eyes fully aligned with the thrill of the catch, he would have to try harder to catch you. You scoffed, your face changing from faux concerned cornered damsel to the hardened confidence in your ability that years of trade had given you. Your hands clasped together in front of you before you clapped slowly, the action seemingly catching the Illyrian off guard. 

“Nice catch, tell me is your outfit fully leather?” the question surprised Azriel, his eyes looking down briefly.

“Are you a fashion consultant now?” 

“No no, just making an observation, you seem so fond of those” You rocked back and forth on the balls of your feet, ever so softly inching your way to the edge of the dock. 

“And what observation is that?”

“Quite a heavy material when it's wet” Azriel didn’t have time to further question you before your foot slammed harshly down on the rotting board, Azriel narrowly but nimbly dodging the gap created by the crumbling plank, its reminisce crashing into the swirling tide 20 feet below. 

“Cute, any other party tricks?” Azriel straightened himself. 

“Just one” You saluted him with two fingers against your forehead before once again surprising the Illyrian and launching yourself backwards off the dock to freefall into the rushing wild tide below. Azriel ran to the edge of the dock, foamy white circles fizzed around your entry point into the water. The heel of Azriel’s ankle slipped from his boot as he prepared to follow you the moment you came up from the air. Except you didn’t. He waited and counted to at least 2 minutes before planting his foot back into the boot. Azriel looked out towards the growing swell in the ocean where he squinted to bring the very distant hazy grey outline. He couldn’t understand how you had made it so far, so fast, clearly at home in the crispy sea. 

“Azriel, if you’re gonna off yourself you have to at least warn me so I can get a jumpstart on the funeral speech” Rhysand laughed from behind the Spymaster, his voice making Azriel jump slightly, the sight of it confusing Rhysand. 

“Hey you okay?” Rhysand clapped a hand on Azriel’s shoulder, ever so gently guiding his friend back from the edge of the dock. 

“Yeah I eh..” He couldn’t find the words.

“Oh Azzie I know that look, well keep it in your pants, we’re here to get the book and go, I’m sure you can find someone just as fun at home” Rhysand laughed, turning Azriel’s body away from the edge of the dock, guiding him back up the boardwalk. Azriel took one more quick glance, no longer able to make out your distant shadow. 

—--------------------------------------

Azriel cursed every moment of his life that led him to this one that he shared with Feyre and Amren. This was the Spymaster's ultimate nightmare as the floods of endless water crashed into the chamber room, Feyre seemingly having a psychotic breakdown while clinging to the Book of Breathings. Every nerve was screaming at Azriel to entirely freak out but watching Feyre struggle with whatever the Book was giving her kept his head between his shoulders. As quickly as the water flooded in, the pulling force wrapped around the friends and tugged. Feyre and Amren seemingly had a silent discussion that pulled the three through the smothering water. 

The first swallow of salty air was choked down by the three as the wraiths pulled them upward through the blasted door, the dehydrating water still keeping a tight hold on Azriel. Alarms blared in any and all directions as Rhysand clearly had his own trials during the retrieval of the book. Wraiths suddenly squabbled over Azriel, their sharp talon like nails clawing along his wings, his yelps drowned out by the waves. Swelling currents pulled and pulled as the wraiths clung to Amren out of fear and Feyre out of repayment of debt leaving Azriel to fend for himself against the violent washes of water. Azriel had felt all his energy sapped by the fight for air inside the chamber being challenged again by the pulling force of the water. Out of bloodshot eyes, he saw the wraiths successfully bring his friends to shore until he could no longer fight the fray and instead allowed it to sweep him out. 

—--------------

Azriel’s face was swollen in the colours of choking purple and blue as his lungs fought to cough up the swallowed seawater. He felt his bones sink into the water-swollen wood of the ship he found himself hauled up onto. The sound of his body being dragged along the wood rattled against the strong gusts of wind. 

“Well, who did you piss off this time?” You laughed down towards the greying Spymaster as he tried to blink you into focus. He could only groan in reply before you jerked your head to the side, the large males dragging him across the deck continued their course, tossing him into the bowels of the ship. A smaller fae quickly clasped heavy chains on him, energy stores still depleted from the fight with nature. 

Azriel couldn’t tell if it had been minutes, hours or days since he had arrived on board the next time he woke up. He took in the musty surroundings, unable to detect any other living creatures in the room with him.

“I told you leather was a heavy material when wet” You smirked from atop the beam above Azriel before jumping down to land in front of him. 

“Remind me to take the fashion advice next time” Azriel rasped out, his throat raw from the salt. You circled him briefly before retrieving a tray from a darkened corner of the room, the swells of the wave lifting and dropping the boat in a natural rhythm, it never throwing off your stride. You placed the tray down by his side as he squared off his hips to sit upright on the sodden wooden floor. 

“Drink” You half ordered, Azriel looking from the liquid lifeline to your eyes of equal colour. 

“To have you poison me?” he scoffed. 

“The salt in your system will do that work for me if you don’t drink” Azriel looked back down at the water, weighing up the options before deciding to take it with a heavy chained hand. The water tasted of pure light itself as you watched him carefully swallow it all while attempting not to drool yourself. Another swell hit the side of the ship, causing Azriel to fall to his side. 

“You’re going to want to find your sea legs soon Leathers if you want to be able to keep your lunch down” You laughed, removing a cloth from the tray to reveal a thick, nutritious stew. 

“Where are we going?” He managed, trying his best to keep his sickly grey cheeks from turning green. 

“We're chucking you out closer to home, a courtesy” you squatted down to his eye level, drawing his amber eyes into meet you. 

“Why?”

“What can I say, I don't love the drama it loves me” you laughed standing again, pushing the tray closer to him with your foot. 

“Real answer” the stew bubbled in the dish, punctuating Azriels words. 

“I fish a prize out of the ocean, I'm going to collect”

“Aw you think I'm a prize” Azriel batted his eyelashes in faux flirtation, righting himself. You squatted back down, catching his chin lightly and to his own surprise he allowed you. 

“No, but the High Lord of endless wealth does” you let him go with a jerk. 

“Now eat, we've a few stops to make” You left him to his thoughts. 

-

Azriel picked at the food, before falling in and out of a state of pure exhaustion, it had been at least 3 days since he was sent out to sea. He gave into the food after 72hrs of deciding whether or not it was poison until it's filling nature sent him to as comfortable sleep. Azriel woke to the feeling a cool liquid dripping down his wings.

“Don't touch me” he jerked his wings out of your reach, the cloth going slack in your hand. 

“Listen here Leathers, either the wounds are cleaned or you lose the wings” You bit, Azriel weighing up your words, the cuts the wraiths left fighting to heel under his diminished energy. 

“Fine, do it yourself” You wrung out the cloth before dropping it to his side.

“Why do you care?” The thought rattled around Azriels head for the hours you had left him in the dark, he had to try to find the answer. He reached for the cloth, dripping the liquid down what wounds he could reach under the constraints of the chain. 

“You're less valuable to me dead” You lied, trying your best to ignore the cuts he missed. You ran your tongue across your teeth, and Azriel took note of your inspection. 

“Seems you care an awful lot about someone you see only as monetary gain” he smirked, unable to hide how your interest made him feel. He then proceeded to miss the wounds on purpose until you finally snapped, whipping the cloth from hands. 

“Just let me!” You snapped harshly and then met his wing with surprising tenderness. Azriel watched you from the corner of his eye, afraid to blink and you'd disappear. 

“Damn wraiths” you whispered, the deep claw marks fighting against the healing solution. 

“The way you swim, I thought you might be one yourself” You met his eyes with a grin, the cloth slipping from your hand. 

“Don't belittle me like that Spymaster-” Azriels eyebrow raised again at your coy response “-yeah I knew the moment I met you who you were and how much it drives you crazy that you have no idea who I am”

“I'm piecing it together” he said softly, watching you trace your eyes over his wings. Veins of opal and midnight blue liquid leaked from your hand, flowing over the deeper marks and sealing the shut-on contact.

“And more pieces fall” Azriel said, watching in amazement. You brought a finger to your lip and whispered shh, a banging then coming from behind.

“Captain, we're here” a burly voice came from the door, you stood before they could see what you were doing. 

“Business to attend” You grinned down, wiping your hands on your trousers and leaving Azriel once again.

—------

The boat soon after began to rock again, Azriel still not finding comfort in the waves. He tried to map out mentally the course you had taken him and why his family had yet to appear and save him. He knew the importance of the Book of Breathings and its vitality in a successful mission but he thought he was equally as vital. The swells rocked the boat to almost vomit-inducing levels as it reached the peaking waves of the thick sea once again.

On the main deck you glided with ease, your whole crew used to wild seas and never wanting to change any part of them. A long day of scouting out treasures and seeking payment for your protection had you staring up at the ceiling of your cabin, contemplating it all. The rush of waves hitting the solid oak of the massive ship sent you to welcome sleep shortly, the whole ship falling into well-earned rest after a day of various activities. Hours later you woke with the feeling of a true unfamiliar sickness. You ran quickly to the private washroom adjacent to your room, your skin a sickly green colour, your body at the will of the ocean for the first time in centuries. 

“What the fuck?” you said to yourself before wrapping a cloak around you and heading to the deck. Stray waves washed over the rim, flooding the deck as your crew fought with the sails, waves almost as tall as them made an attempt to claim a prize. You raised a stray hand, deflecting the walls of water from any serious damage, still unable to fight off the full feeling of sea sickness. You were always one with the ocean, allowing it to reek it havoc but keeping it from toppling the ship. The boat rocked nearly level to its starboard side before you willed the water to keep the mast from tilting, your crew ever happy to have a master of the elements at the helm. 

“Just keep the fucking sails straight” You barked, your crew scrambling to obey as lightning cracked across the sky, illuminating the flooding deck, your stomach doing somersaults to match the movement. You rushed from the wheel down the decks again before entering into the depths of the ship, shielded from the rain. 

“For fuck sake, drink this before I vomit” You fired a small vile at the green Illyrian who caught it through his disorientation. Azriel always hated being at sea, doing his best to avoid it during his training and having a stark reminder of why now that he found himself at the centre of a colossal storm.

Azriel’s eyes locked on you as he fiddled with the lid of the bottle, he no longer cared if it was poison, if it ended the hellish seascape he’d drink it happily. Your eyes rolled like the waves before you made short work of the distance separating you both and in quick movement you separated the blade strapped to your thigh from its holder, sinking it into a miniscule chink in one of the chains on Azriel’s arm. You quickly hauled him upwards, the movement rattling his head to accompany the severe seasickness as you hauled him over to the side of the room. With your bare hands, you pulled the small wooden sheet nailed to the wall down, revealing a porthole. In a swift motion, you whipped it open, pressing Azriel’s face out into the swirling sea air. 

“There! See that line, thats the horizon, stay on that!” You barked at him, the ravenous waves crashing up to meet Azriels face through the hole as sea spray. He rocked from foot to foot, allowing his weight to rest in your strength as he found the horizon, nearly boring holes in it with his eyes as he focused.

“Just focus on the centre of your world Azriel, focus” You tried more softly this time, his name from you striking some deep nerve he always neglected. He caught as much air as he could before turning to lock eyes on you, colour drained from his face. 

“Not on me, the horizon!” You snapped, catching the back of his head and forcing it forward again. The curling, twisting sensation in your stomach was quickly replaced by a different sinking sensation. 

“Okay, okay, I’m okay” Azriel called out, your pressure releasing slightly on him, allowing him to sink back to the floorboards, one arm still tethered to the bowels of the ship. You followed his lead, sliding down the wall of the ship to meet his side. He curled his knees into his chest like he did as a child and you found your thumb tracing small soothing circles on the back of his hand before realising. He scanned you in almost horror, panting deep breaths into his lungs.

“That vein in your head is gonna pop if you keep thinking that hard” You found yourself laughing breathlessly, thankful for the end of the illness you so rarely felt. 

“Do you make this many visits to prisoners normally?”

“I guess you’ll never know, maybe this is how I am with all my guests” You rolled your head against the wall to look at him.

“An interesting way to treat your guests” He jingled the chains.

“Chains make it more fun” You whispered, the words rolling over his nerves like a wave at sea.

“More pieces, Captain” his rusty voice stopped your thoughts under his warm gaze.

“You’ll never have enough to understand”

“Oh yeah?” In one smooth movement, Azriel swerved his chained arm over his head, hooking it around your throat. He pulled until you found your back flush with his chest, his legs like vice grips around you from behind as you dug your nails into the betraying chain. 

“Chains make it more fun-” He whispered into the crook of your neck, the hairs on your neck standing on their end “- Now tell me how you knew I was sick down here?! Have you spelled me?” He ordered, rolling his hands into tighter fists around the chain, ensuring you were fully at the will of its biting metal jaws. He released enough pressure for a life-saving gasp of air you took hungrily. 

“The-the same way you-you knew how to find me on-on the dock. How did you see m-e that day?” You rasped, Azriel allowed more slack on the chain as he thought, the answer rolling off his tongue like a rogue wave. 

“How could I not?” he admitted in a whisper, the only sound filling the room. 

“Then that is my same answer to you” You thought of the ways you could overpower him at this moment, the simple ways you could will the sea to save you and yet you didn’t. You weren’t ready to end this moment and you weren’t fully sure why, well not in a way that you’d admit to yourself yet.

“I just-I felt someone need me, call to me without a voice… I just saw you through it all” he realised aloud.

“People don’t usually”

“I thought you were a Captain, or was that just a pet name?” his head tilted in question, “I’m no ones pet” More tension was released from the chain, enough for you to put your fingers between it and your marbled throat.

“I bet I could change that” his warm breath coated your ear, some force pulling him forward until the full slack was released from his chain, it clattering to the floor along its captivated wrist, his other hand tracing along your chest to gently catch your chin. You felt your back relax further into your chest until you instinctively fell to the side allowing the Spymaster the access to your neck he desperately craved. Fresh, electrifying bittersweet pain rattled through your body as Azriel sank his teeth into your tender flesh, his chained hand anchoring you to his chest by curling tightly around your abdomen. You released the air from your lungs that felt as though it had been held forever. Azriel’s hand left your obedient chin to trace down your body, landing at the fraying waistband of your favourite sleep shorts. His thumb traced beneath the band, his nail skirting along your skin, a shiver shooting up your spine. 

“Tell me your name” He whispered with tantalizing ease. 

“YN” You replied, not often telling those outside the inner sanctum. 

“The name I’ll thank the sky for and wish on every star to hear” His hand finally sank beneath the elastic, stroking small circles to coat your throat in soft moans you fought to keep hold of. You could feel him against your backside, feel how much he wanted this and you and yet you didn’t want him to know the same about you. 

“For you, only you” He groaned, pressing further into you as if hearing your thoughts, a rewarding groan this time unable to be stopped from leaving you. As quickly as he had trapped you, you turned, hooking a leg over his to press him back into the deck, straddling either side of his waist, his chained arm clanking against the wood. Your hand traced his cheek and he allowed himself to rest against your palm, his wings relaxing outwards, the wraith marks on show. You felt rage boil beneath the surface at the sight of their claim to what you felt was yours. You lowered down to his mouth, eyes swirling into his as he drank your energy in. 

“I’ll kill them for hurting you”

“And I’ll do the same to those who look at you in any unkindness, or look at you at all, unworthy of the pleasure” His free hand found the nape of your neck, magnetic forces guiding you down until a wash of the purest release met you both in one another's lips. Nirvana. Then unrelenting hunger. Your mouth parted slightly causing him to eagerly take the invitation, his tongue conducting teasing strokes that you happily match. Your hands clutch the material of his shirt, afraid to let go of him and the movement.

“Land!!!” An unwelcome shout came from far above where the two of you were deep in entanglement. The voice of your second mate pulled you back from Azriel, who tried his best to not whine at the movement. You quickly shot from his grasp, retucking your shirt and pulling your damp hair to one shoulder. You looked frantically at the broken chain before darting to cover the porthole again. 

“What-what just happened?” Azriel asked, doing his best to stand.

“We just reached your drop off” You left a sad smile paint your face as Azriel bolted towards you, his chain dragging.

“But we-I just- we just-”

“I know but they’ll be expecting you and my crew will be expecting the payout I promised them when we diverted course to fish you from the sea” You caught his knotted hands in yours, the marks of your years of hard work melting into his of deepest cruelty. 

“Run with me, come with me, just don’t leave me” he found himself begging.

“This is my world, that’s yours, I don't have land legs just like you definitely don’t have sea legs-” you laughed “-besides, I don’t think we’ll be welcomed in this Court after our capture of one of the favourite children” You joked, your hand tracing his cheek. 

“YN, I’ll tell them the truth, tell them how you saved me, how you will save me in so so many ways” A knock came at the end of Azriel’s plea, your sign to say goodbye. 

“I’m sorry Azriel, my crew are my family and I owe them what they deserve” you stepped back outside the range of what his remaining chain would allow. You reluctantly opened the door, towering males like those who dragged him aboard entered, your back facing him unable to look. Azriel wasn’t sure what happened yet, wasn’t even sure he cared. 

—------

“Is he dead?” Azriel heard Nesta through the screeching song of overhead seabirds. He rolled onto his back, the sharp sun scratching his retinas after a few days in the dark.

“Azriel!” His friends said in unison, helping him to sit up in the soft sand. 

“They didn’t drop you where they said, sorry it took so long to get to you” Feyre smiled, dusting the sand from his hair as Rhysand and Cassian scanned the horizon for any semblance of your ship, long long gone. 

—-----------------

The following weeks were rough for the whole Night Court, all unsure of their next moves to save their world from Hybern. Countless nights watching the bay allowed Azriel time to devise plans and hatch ideas. All paths lead to you more so than success against Hybern. 

That Starfall his family rejoiced in their full reunion, their first in 50 years and yet Azriel still felt a missing part of him, it cast out to sea. He watched Rhysand take Feyre by the hand up the stairs, a smile decorating his face at his brother's deserved happiness. His rusty coloured liquor reflected the moon, the party danced around him, the noise of it all not enough to drown out what he felt was a call he had to answer. 

Azriel landed on the shores of Velaris, the hidden home he’d die for, thinking about the hidden love he’d do the same for. An idea pinged into his head at the sight of Velaris residents releasing lanterns from passing canoes. 

Without full coherence, Azriel found himself rowing a small dingy of a boat out of the Velaris port. He dug deep against the slowly growing waves, the House Of Wind and it’s gleaming party lights in the growing distance. He rowed until he could no longer see his home over the crests of the waves before he stood on rattling legs and found the bow of the small boat. With one deep breath, Azriel swan dived into the crystal clear depths, allowing it to overwhelm him and pull him down. Cautiously, Azriel opened his eyes beneath the water, adjusting to he burn before swimming deeper. Lactic acid began to build in his muscles and beg him not to swim deeper into the pressure of the unforgiving water. Black blots inked across his vision as the darkening water began to overwhelm his system once again until right before blacking out an arm wrapped around him. 

“You have to be fucking kidding me” Was the first thing Azriel heard you say in weeks as you both breached the surface. He almost howled with laughter and exhilaration of his near-death experience and seeing you again. 

“I-I knew you’d come” he rasped out in giddy excitement. 

“Risky game Leathers” You laughed until he kissed you, the lapping water supporting you both. Overhead the sky began to fill with lights on their journey, reflecting off the water with pure light but in that moment Azriel knew that even the darkest night would be illuminated by you.

---------------------------------

Teehee Whatcha think?!

[ace-shenanigans]

obsessed with the OG!SQH/SY ship. i am enraptured. obsessed. feral. i gotta ask if you have any more ideas about them?

HELL YEA I DO

- Sy transmigrates as himself/an npc before binghe makes it to cqms, and spends a lot of his time dodging the plot by being a rogue cultivator. Its on one of his plot-avoiding adventures that he runs into og!Shang Qinghua and inevitably gets dragged into the plot (havent decided if airplane joins the world or nah, but if he did then hes obv a different character)

- Sqh originally only keeps Sy around as a source of information to save his own skin and fully intended to drop him at the earliest convenience, unfortunately the wife beam too strong and sqh slowly finds himself feeling protective of this strange man who keeps running head first into dangerous situations for some 'deus ex machina' that'll help them both

- Sqh does think Sy is some kind of seer btw, because how else would he know so much about things he shouldnt? Sy is 100% down to run with that narrative because it lets him get around the system's punishment protocols for revealing too much.

- Sy is ofc not trusting of Sqh at first cuz all he knows about him is the few throw away lines from PIDW, but after he starts to see just how much the man does and deals with Sy does develop a begrudging respect for Sqh

- Sqh keeps Sy on a pretty short leash even after their relationship improves because hes not about to let anyone else get their hands on someone with so much valuable intel, but he does enjoy sicking Sy on both the demons of Mbj/Lbh's court and his own martial siblings (yknow those 'translator' joke videos online where the translator says what the person really means? Thats Sy for Sqh)

- Sy is required to stay mostly quiet about Lbh's whole abyss arc, but he does make sure sqh falls into 'tolerable' terms with the future emperor to avoid the man's scripted end (and if that leads to some mobing content then thats just the way the ball bounces)

- the sect isnt really sure how to handle Sy at first since hes an unknown rogue element, but they eventually find themselves somewhat endeared to the oblivious man thats apparently bonded with the semi-reclusive an ding lord, especially after he 'stumbles' across sqq and lqg in the caves ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

[calisources]

ROYAL, FANTASY ROMANCE AND SPICE. all these quotes and sentences are taken from different sources as well some made by myself. change pronouns and places and names as you see fit. some of these are heavy with tension or sexual intention, though nothing too graphic, but you are warned some of these are full of spice and forbidden romance. if you have more suggestions, send them to me and i will add them to this post.

ACTIONS AND SCENARIOS. add +reverse to change the roles.

(royal ball): our muses dance at a royal ball. 

(captive in the tower): sender is held captive and receiver helps save them.

(arranged marriage): our muses are thrown together into an arranged marriage.

(childhood betrothal): arranged to wed since being children, our muses finally meet days before the wedding.

(ward): send is a ward at the receiver's house/home. 

(stolen kiss): sender kisses receiver before a battle, away from prying eyes.

(mystery knight): sender is unknown at court and receiver wants to know them further.

(secrets): our muses are together in a secret relationship as their families wouldn’t approve. 

(brother’s keeper): sender is receiver’s brother's best friend. Sender has been harboring a crush since they met.

(taken): sender is taken prisoner by receiver on their ship at sea after a shipwreck.

(horse ride): there is only one horse trope, our muses have to ride together.

(guard): sender is made receiver’s guard and they have to travel/spend time together.

(no one is here to help): receiver is taken to sender as their captive.

(aftermath): after a battle/war, sender and receiver reunite thinking the other was dead. 

(my prince): sender falls for receiver, who is the realm’s prince/princess.

(tourney): sender gives the receiver their favor during a tournament.

(piece of me): sender ties a piece of cloth on receiver’s hand to wrap around a wound.

(you left): sender left receiver years ago, now reunited, receiver is upset.

(last kiss): unsure if they will see each other again, sender kisses the receiver before distracting enemies so receiver can escape.

(under my protection): sender proclaims himself receiver’s protector while receiver is traveling/captive.

(starcrossed): our muses find out they have to marry other people and they reunite at night.

(we were in love once): our muses were together in a relationship in their youth and now see each other after years.

(my castle is yours): sender pledges their castle as a fortress to keep the receiver safe.

(gentle touch): sender heals the receiver of their wounds and inevitably grows close.

(magic): receiver is a being of magical properties and sender finds themselves enthralled by them.

(my paramour): receiver becomes sender’s mistress.

(the bane of my existence): our muses never got along and yet, they harbor feelings for one another after a heated argument.

(maze): our muses lose their guards in a maze and they find each other alone.

(it was always you): our muses are childhood friends about to get married.

(to make peace): from opposite houses, our muses are now married to bring peace.

(corner): behind a corner of the great hall, sender corners receiver after seeing them dance with someone else.

(advisor): receiver works as an advisor for sender, despite objection around court.

(rags to riches): receiver is a bastard now made legitimate and people around the realm came to meet them. Sender is one of them.

(at your service): receiver is a lady in waiting/personal guard to sender’s sibling and a romance develops.

(saved): sender is saved by receiver, who is a healer/witch.

SENTENCES AND QUOTES:

“You are enough to drive a saint to madness or a king to his knees.”

“He didn't marry you to become king. He became king because he wanted to marry you.”

“Little by little, the old world crumbled, and not once did the king imagine that some of the pieces might fall on him.”

“I want you—but I don’t want this."

“Rule with the heart of a servant. Serve with the heart of a king.”

“There’s a fine line between gossip and history, when one is talking about kings.”

“I will not share you."

“Well, princess, let’s see what you’re made of.”

“She added the flowers and incense to help mask your own scent.”

“Your eyes betray you. Your body even responds to mine no matter that you’re angry. You want me.”

“He is my ruin. My complete and utter devastation.”

“Just how long have you been sticking it to the girl who’s like a little sister to us?”

“There’s a certain sort of beauty in submission.”

“My story hasn’t been written yet, but I know it begins with you.”

“You will love this man. Do you understand? You will love him, serve him, and obey him in all things. This is your duty to me and to France. Am I clear?’

“She didn’t need a man. She wanted one.”

“Your wish is my command, my queen.”

“It is legal because I wish it.”

“Rejection is an opportunity for your selection.”

“She's magic, Cassandra. A single flower blooming in an endless desert.”

“Do you really want to put yourself through this? Is loving me really enough to endure everything you have to just to be with me?"

“Make no mistake.You are under my protection now, and I protect what is mine.”

“But perhaps, when you sleep, you will dream of me."

“I cannot come with you, my prince.”

“This woman was consuming him, bit by bit.”

“Call him. Claim him. Speak his Name. Make him thine before all others.”

“You are the harbor of my soul’s journeying.”

“We love what we love. We don’t need to justify it to anyone… not even to ourselves.”

“To love something despite. To know the flaws and love them too. That is rare and pure and perfect.”

“The heart is neither given nor stolen. The heart surrenders.”

“Give yourself to me.”

“I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your man to serve.”

“I married you to stop the bloodshed, and you keep killing. When will it be enough- when?”

“Marriage is a marriage- love or arranged. Both require the same level of commitment.”

“We are trapped by convention and must marry another.”

“We had both accepted the unwritten rule of arranged marriage: love, if it arrived at all, would bloom with time.”

“Be with me. Want me. Stay with me.I don’t know how to be without you.”

“We were doomed from the start. A lost cause. A losing battle.”

“Mr. Larsen, if you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.”

“You are my very own forbidden fruit.”

“I’m scared, but I’d rather have one real day with you than a lifetime of misguided security.”

“And you, are mine.”

“You think a courtship and a hunt are two separate things. They are not.”

“I will share him with you, I cannot lose him.”

“Why must you resist me so dearly? When you tremble under my touch?”

“You must be made of magic itself. Your touch is warm.”

“One day, I will be able to leave you.”

“Did he touch you? Did you enjoy the way he held you across the room?”

"I will be your husband. I will take a solemn vow to protect you until death do us part. Do you understand what that means?"

“And why, pray tell, should I make it easy?'

"You are the bane of my existence--and the object of all of my desires. Night and day I dream of you."

"I did not ask for this--to be plagued by these feelings."

“I have loved you at every dance, on every walk, and every time we've been together. You must feel it in your heart, because I do."

“Because,by the time I’m done, prayer is the only thing that is going to save you.”

“Suppose I told everyone that I had seduced you.”

“You’re not planning to refuse me, are you?”

'Tell me if I do anything you don't like.”

“Say you do not care for me. Tell me you feel nothing and I will walk away.”

“I am a gentleman. My father raised me to act with honor, but that honor is hanging by a thread that grows more precarious with every moment I spend in your presence.”

“If I wed your sister, it will bind me and you together for eternity, and I will spend every day of my marriage wanting you, dreaming of you, dreading the day when my last thread of honor finally snaps.”

“I have never met anyone like you. It is maddening, how much you consume my very being.”

“That scent. It has remained imprinted on my mind ever since that night of the conservatory ball on that terrace. Lilies.”

“I desire you. I burn for you. I can't sleep at night because I want you."

“You’re the center of a star, and the force of gravity keeps pulling me closer, and I don’t give a damn that I’m about to be incinerated.“

“Whatever bad thing happened to you, it hasn’t made you less beautiful. There’s beauty in darkness, too.”

“I belong to you. Only you…I’ll always be yours. No matter what.”

[malvoile]

Me and the Devil ; i

ɪᴛ ʀᴀɪɴꜱ ᴏɴ ᴄᴀʟᴀᴅᴀɴ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʀɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʏᴏᴜʀ ɴᴇꜱᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴀʀᴋɴᴇꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ꜱʜɪᴘᴘᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ɴᴇᴡ ᴡᴏʀʟᴅ.

word count: 7k warnings: arranged marriage, politics, graphic scenes of blood, violence, & death of family. trauma, past abuse (harkonnen&feyd rautha warning) not much else. mutual mistrust. notes: hi! tysm to my new followers ily all <3 here's chapter one remastered of this fic [originally posted on @tremendum ] - (inspiration for reader's family is taken from the family of tsar nicholas ii, so if it feels familiar that's why.) feedback very much appreciated :)

prelude series masterlist

Penitent Crimes of Retaliation;

“In accordance with the legal doctrine of the 'Reprisal Accord', as sanctioned by the High Court of the Landsraad, attacked houses are granted the right to retaliate against proven offenses committed against them; This action shall such be labelled as ‘Penitent Crimes of Retaliation.’ 

Under this mandate, should sufficient evidence be presented, the aggrieved house may initiate a retaliatory strike and is sanctioned to engage in warfare against the offending party. While reparations for damages incurred during the conflict are mandated, perpetrators shall be exempt from criminal sentences ensuring a balanced recourse within the framework of inter-house disputes; as deemed by a jury of the Great Houses Major and Minor at court."

- From the Reprisal Accord, Office of the Padishah Emperor. Imperium, 10041. 

There was once a time when green was your favorite color. 

You'd enjoyed a childhood of it – Peridot stones glittering upon headdresses, jade figurines, the velveted forest of winter dresses; halls draped with verdant portraits of the faces which came before you, and before you, and before you – all shroud in that forested pride; an ancient thing, to know the ground of the planet and to take life from the same roots as the trees around you. 

A life cushioned in the nested hearth of mountainside and jade pools of glacier; and of course the breathstealing height of the sacred Pine. Viridescent flicks of the woven banner of your house, waving in the snow-whipped wind; A snarling green wolf upon grey armor, a hall of decadent verdant heirloom stones. 

And in the three months each year when the ice melts off the lower glaciers – the glacial lakes, thawed into that deep emerald green. Your brother, your sisters and you, charging with wild hollers and flailing limbs as tutors and soldiers alike chased after you; scolds and yelps of fear dying on chapped lips as young bodies leapt into the glossy pools, rippling screams through the woods. 

In the yawning abyss of childhood, there’s always been that lingering haunt color; When the men of a faraway House Major arrived to retrieve your older sister, she'd been shroud in that very same sacred pine-satin. An elegant dress, you remember quite clearly – draped in gold and jade, haunting the mouth of the ship in her shining emerald headpiece as she turned to wave goodbye for the last time.

A constant source of home, perhaps; and a reminder of the ever-churning yield of abundance the planet gifted your family. Gifts of life, spurting through the ice, growing over centuries within the warm breast of mountain caverns – miners returning to the villages and towns surrounding the castle, hands stained with verdant dust. Green, that gift of life.  

Even at your sister's funeral. 

A glossy forested casket, laid to rest in the ground of a foreign planet – the wind was sharp against the dark emerald veils of the women of House Bourbon the day you said goodbye to your sister. 

Killed by the birth of her first – a son. You became the oldest of your siblings that day. 

It was an honor, your parents had told you through tears as the earth swallowed the emerald peeks of casket through handfuls of dirt; an honor to serve your family, to serve the Sisterhood, to serve the Imperium. 

Years churn on, as they always do – and somewhere across the Imperium, perhaps a new life has sprouted ,evergreen above the plot where your sister lies in eternal rest. But you can hardly stand to look at green anymore. 

No, instead, you mostly see black.

They'd sent you away to make for your house a fortune; a son, they'd wished, for your sake - and, by whispers of your Lady Mother, a daughter – but the nest you made was one of fear and survival; a place crawling with shadows and monsters and deadly smiles. 

Your na-Baron. 

If Feyd-Rautha ever had a semblance of hesitancy, it was when you first met four years ago. You were at the end of your seventeenth year and he, freshly eighteen – a cordial boy by at least Harkonnen standards; escorting you with an arm held out, eyes malicious and teeth glinting but nonetheless tamed to curved glances and sickeningly sinister grins. 

He'd even called you Lady Bourbon those first few months on Giedi Prime. 

Perhaps in many ways, you can consider yourself lucky. Even if only for your bloodline, or the power laced through the syllables of the name you come from – or even, Maker forbid, in some way for yourself – Feyd-Rautha has indeed taken special care of you. Perhaps he does care for you – the care a panther reserves for his chosen prey. 

Despite his endless vanity, he still has stooped so as to admit he waited too long to claim you as wife; a feat which, in some way, might bring him just a step higher in the chokehold his family holds the Imperium – and you, with tongue as sharp as your mind, know when to push and when to dissolve into those dark shadows he loves so much. 

So you’ve let him stew in fury, avoiding eyes and sneaking from column to column; ears pressed to oaken doors with a trembling hand. 

The accusations had come from Baron Vladimir; House Bourbon has been stealing the precious refinery codes, committing treason against the trading accords along the Harkonnen-dominated exportation route. And perhaps, he thought, you’ve been the one to plot against your beloved future family.

But Feyd-Rautha knows better – knows you'd never dare betray him for the sake of your life or purely through the denial of access. Feyd was, after all, the one to demand a public execution of your family and, in the same breath, redirect your sentencing to imprisonment. As if you weren't already. 

Don't look away. See what we do to scum, my pet? 

Hatred flows thicker than blood; and perhaps if you'd had your blade this morning, you would have finally plunged it right into the junction of creamy skin upon his neck, right there in the stands. 

You were, in some ways, relieved when their bodies hit the sand fast. You've never seen your brother's skin so reflective as you did this morning; and the black sun, oppressive as it is intense, still could not hide the blood that had seeped from him.

A deafening roar of the crowd still did not muffle the glistening cries of the two girls; the ones no older than seventeen and nineteen, the ones who carry your nose, and your hair, and your laugh, and your blood. The crowd could not muffle the sharp loss of breath as the blades slid slow across the seam of their necks to spill that which you share so intrinsically. 

You'd swallowed thickly, twitching to look away, gasp – to cry; but any semblance of pain was concealed under layers of unbudging, seething hatred. There is no space here for anguish; Your na-Baron would love it too much.

Why don't you leave me with them, then? You'd hissed through your teeth.

Though he was wild and psychotic, growling with hunger at the bloodsport in front of him, he heard you for what you'd said. Feyd's fingers pulled your hair hard, forcing your chin up towards his crazed stare. A sickly glint in the black sun, his teeth shone with hunger. 

You'd have me throw you to your Wolves, and lose my prize? He'd tutted, kissing your forehead with a sickening sweetness; enough so that the servants had turned away their spider-black gazes. They didn't care much for the acts of affection you'd occasionally show one another – they know just as well as you that in a world marred by ugliness, any glimpse of beauty becomes a hauntingly grotesque show of power. 

He'd snarled, a growling rumble through the chanting crowd of spectators screaming kill the Wolves; His breath was hot against your cheek. You're mine to keep – there's plenty of life left for you to serve.  

He'd held your hand tight as they slit your father's throat – he was too drugged to put up a fight worthy of retaining his life; after minutes, his blade fell. It was then both of your sisters, swift deaths prolonged only by the wisps of prana-bindu that remained in their muscles’ memories, by the screams that heightened the jeering crowd in bloodthirst. Next came the assassination of your brother; the Tsarevich, the boy whose grasp on his knife shook as he looked up towards your seat helplessly. 

Your mother had fought as much as she could in her drugged state – a Weirding Woman, whose flashing arms and darting legs outsmarted the Harkonnen fighters for far longer than what must have been expected. A Ginaz fighter until the end. 

You saw it all with nails torn into your palms; the Harkonnens are ruthless, and Feyd-Rautha had sat calmly beside you with a sickly grin. 

Your mother met the slow knife’s blade against her throat. It should have finished quickly – but in your horror: The neckline of her gown was too high, and too thickly inlaid with encrusted heirlooms. 

Bless their voided souls.

The emeralds that tore from her gown as she'd spilled her blood to the sand sent a ripple of pain out of your throat; and Feyd had buried his face in your neck, teeth sharp and gaze glued to your own ruby blood beading out of your clenched palms, blackened in the sun's light.

If anybody would have bothered to look before burning the bodies, you know they'd find all the family diamonds sewn into the fabric of their clothing. Centuries of your House, melted away.

And Feyd-Rautha had drank up your agony with his lips, smiling as his hand wrapped around your throat. 

Now, alone and away from the thick industrial air, your chambers are cold and suffocating.

There are screams coming from the hall – not the kind that you've grown to associate with your na-Baron testing his new blades, but the kind that comes with danger. With change. 

As it turns out, you are not Feyd-Rautha's to keep any longer.

A loud noise outside of your quarters jolts you from your bed with shaky legs, whispering to yourself. They're coming for you. The sheets are crisp against your awaiting, tensed body; the blade gifted to you on your nameday three years ago by your husband-to-be grasped in your palm; still tainted with the ghost of your own blood.

Your whispers reverberate in the empty room, a spiny crawl of black moulding curling around your bed and awaiting the coming voices. "I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me–”

Your voice shakes, despite yourself. Air puffs from your lips as your blood rushes - few things remain from your early days of training, before you were sent off to become a Harkonnen; This remains a relic.

A loud clash outside – blades against the failing force of shields.  

For a moment, a hand grasps your arm; ghost-white and possessive, it claws at your skin, voice rumbling through your mind. Don't look so sad, my pet. 

The door to your chambers begins to slam with an external force; Soon, the soldiers will enter, and you will do what must be done. 

The hand squeezes upon your wrist harder – you bite back a cry. I will never let them keep what is mine. I will find you again. 

You almost wish he will. 

Slow as a predator, you rise from the sheets; a preparation for a fight that will end before it begins. A fight that has already been won.  

Even when the hand upon your arm is gone into the shadows, succeeded only by a whispering ghost of bruises clutching your skin, you do not stop the old prayer; in fact, you hardly notice that you're saying it at all. 

Even as the doors give in. 

"-and when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing – only I will remain–” 

The soldiers arrive in a burst of splintered doors and smooth movements; the one at the front, flanked by only two others clad in Atreides-tan armor, triggers some faint memory from a lost childhood. 

He moves towards you in the sickeningly familiar stride, and it fills you with rage. 

Duncan. Why did you wait so long? 

It is too late. You lunge, snarling like the wild beast you've become; You fight, because that is the only thing you know how to do. It is the only thing you have left. 

Your blade falls within minutes and you're taken by the man from your past not a minute after; you're on a ship, watching the black Opiuchi B disappear in an hour. 

“My Lady.”

There is a buzzing downfall of drizzling rain that slides over the umbrella’s spine above you. The air here is thicker, laced in salt and terra; the voice snaps your mind back to the ground. Wind whips the veil draped over your head as you step forward stiffly, arms sore and eyes heavy. 

The dress you wear, salvaged from your family's old castle, is dusty and pressed. 

It clings to your skin, drowns you, as the rain falls. A staff of House Atreides holds the umbrella above you, shielding the intricate detailing inlaid along the trim of the dress as you walk. 

The dress upon your shoulders is as tight a cage as the one you inhabited on Geidi Prime; and though it was an effort of good intentions, the Atreides' insistence of providing you with the necessities for you to perform your Sabberon's traditional customary mourning rituals has left you with a prickled spine and a saturation of spite bleeding into your heart. 

Your family may be gone, but the ghosts of their deeds remain with you; a hard goodbye to give when you alone remain to pay for their transgressions. Still, you have found yourself draped with the veil, the dresses, the jewelry; you, alone on a strange planet with the symbols of their crimes, of their betrayals, of their poisoned love. It's what they would have wanted. 

It is a death march from the hangar into the covered acceptance hall – banners of Hawks climb high towards the ragged cliffs, whipping and cerulean in the afternoon light. And ahead, stoic and proud, the members of House Atreides await you.

Your hands brush against the dark velvet – a texture you have not felt in years. It is odd, you notice, to catch the light of your skin not wrapped completely in black fabric; It has been many years, too, since you found yourself in green. 

It is with a prickled glance that you slow your pace behind Duncan Idaho – the man turns and glances at you when you begin to ascend towards the House members, but you can't bear the look of unfamiliarity that flickers over him when he looks at you now. Your chin remains high, your eyes over the line of cliff climbing towards the sky. 

Duncan, after these years, still looks the same – perhaps less tall, but that has more to do with your growth than his own; You, however, are not the same girl he last saw on Sabberon. Your hackles raised, your talons flexed within your palms: A coiling beast of hatred backed into a corner.

There is a coastline far beyond the hangar – and it calls to you quietly; a vast thing, cerulean, cold, and deep. You’d been otherwise occupied when the ship entered atmo to Caladan this afternoon; the sea remains something only within your mind, a figment whispering of golden lips and curling tides in the corners of your dreams. 

An urge strikes you as you begin to ascend the stone stairs towards the welcoming party; and subtly, you crane your neck outwards to catch a glimpse of that sea – a crashing call in the distance, the circle of gulls cutting through the clouded rainfall. But there is no ocean within sight; only jagged cliffs which rocket hundreds of feet above or drop off sharp below. 

Duncan stops just before you; Your spine straightens once more, vision concealed in hues of pine and evergreen as you take in the retinue standing before you. 

Duke Leto Atreides at the center; a man with peppered age, a tall pride and commanding stare – beside him, a woman in a gown of the same deep cerulean – Lady Jessica.

A flood of knowing penetrates you the moment your eyes find hers; through the veil she stares at you, before flicking her sight beyond you, to the Reverend Mother who’d travelled with your retinue as per High Court orders. A voice curls in the back of your mind, stalling your heartbeat for a slow moment.  Hello, sister.

Your lips purse as you look to the right, stood tall next to Lady Jessica; a boy intense in stare and proud in ceremonial uniform, eyes already awaiting your gaze with a sharp curiosity. Paul Atreides.

The son to whom you're now destined.

Even from your obstructed vision, there is no hiding such sharply beautiful features – a sculpted visage kissed with a smattering of freckles from the Caladan sun, pale from the weather; a curve of pouted lips, full, furrowed brows – curled dark locks and eyes wide and just as penetrating as his mother's. A properly handsome heir, you allow your heart's skip; But Maker, you realize as he solemnly watches your veil shift in the breeze, those eyes are so green. 

And most peculiar – within them, there is no hunger; nor hatred, no inkling of emotion besides a giveaway twitch of curiosity in the dragging gaze over your shrouded form. Some ancient stirring in your chest, a hibernated anger, a desire to bare teeth towards such an unassuming and altruistic stare – though you do no such thing, remaining balanced upon your feet and tense with the coiled hibernation of an awaiting serpent. 

There are eyes upon you with each movement of breath from your chest, and it stirs your fear in a way you’ve not felt in a long time.

It was easy to go unseen with the Harkonnens; by nature of arrogance and brashness, they paid no mind to the girl hiding around the shadows, slinking through the halls with a dark stare but blood that still bleeds green. The Atreides are no fools, and you are not one to think so; where Harkonnen honor lacks, Atreides honor flows in abundance. Though still, any such action that might come from a place of intrinsic value sets your teeth to edge. 

The Great Houses of the Landsraad have charged you to leave your nest of shadows, and you have done so. You have been shipped to a new world, a new chain to which you will forever be shackled.

You have learned to find the betrayal of emotion that lingers within the stare of men like Feyd-Rautha and Vladimir Harkonnen – the hunger, the greed, the danger; you have learned to sharpen your edges with the blade of their power, and you know now what your place in this galaxy must be. 

And yet, Paul Atreides: His stare betrays no emotion but duty; a foreign thing to you in these times, though as you scrutinize the twitch of his brow or the brush of eyelashes against cheek, you find yourself struck wary and off-balance. 

He does not have that wolfish hunger in his stare that you’ve come to know – in truth, if not for the boyish pout of his pink lips and his freshly-shaven jaw, you might have dared mistake him for his father; A Duke. 

You might have remained in your study of your betrothed if not for the echoing voice of Duke Leto speaking your name. A snap of your gaze towards the man in front of you as he nods warmly, “Welcome.”

It is an effort to bow in return to him, wincing through your stiffened muscles as your headpiece chimes with your movements. 

“We are honored to welcome you to Caladan.” It is an exceedingly polite, humane tone with which he addresses you; you, a stranger who has been delivered from the protection (which itself might even be a laughable term) of their sworn enemy. 

Though despite the sincerity, you find yourself struck with a stinging embarrassment: There is no honor to your presence, not anymore. 

It gives you a moment to gather your expression, however hidden behind the veil it may be – perhaps they can't quite make out your face, but Lady Jessica watches closely. She sees.

You take a sharp breath, swallowing away the lump of emotion in your throat. 

“Thank you, Duke Leto.” It is steel which grinds the melodically polite veneer of your voice; and without a hesitation you turn to greet the Lady of the House.

“Lady Jessica, it is a pleasure.” 

In response you are offered a smile as warm as the Duke’s voice; there is a flicker of understanding which floats along the line of blue in her irises, and it compels you to continue, “Thank you for welcoming me to your home,” You finish, hoping the steely reflection within your voice does not bleed unto the other ears. 

The rain falls quietly overhead, sliding over the high-drawn ceiling of the open acceptance hall. “We understand that these are trying times,” Lady Jessica begins; your legs feel weakened in a moment of shortened breath, though she finishes in a quiet nod. “We are relieved to have you on Caladan.” 

The spin of worldchange has caught up with you at the reminder of such trying times – a day and a half’s travel between systems behind you, and yet the deaths of your family meet you still with a fresh sickness of shock each time you close your eyes. Your headdress chimes lightly when you bow your head once more in appreciation of her words. 

The welcome feels rather intimate, in this moment – a retinue of four strong flanks behind you: Duncan Idaho, the Reverend Mother, and two Atreides soldiers; and before you stands the Duke and Lady, their Heir, and a party of five men in Atreides uniforms. Your eyes sweep them efficiently – no weapons; a surprising show of trust, knowing who indeed you have just been delivered from the clutches of. 

Perhaps they'd thought they'd be taking in some injured little dove; a cooing thing, wings clipped and battered by the ferocious boy who'd gifted her with a knife plunged between her ribs on her eighteenth nameday. A bitter thought. 

The scar that lies just below your breast on your right side is not a reminder, but instead fate carved into flesh – it does not ache; it hums with the echoes of pain grown to purpose.

It echoes of the months spent thrown into a pit under the glaring black sun; Not the arena that rang in the end of your family, no – this pit is smaller, with one large seat for the na-Baron himself; one not with a crowd of vicious jeering but with drugged concubines and slaves clutching blades to service his na-Baroness. 

A place to watch his pets play. 

Your eyes glance to the curved wounds scabbed over your hands – little half moons, skies of pain, etched into the palms of your hands. Destruction: the only thing you and Feyd-Rautha may have ever had in common. 

Unfortunately, you endured; a hard lesson, to live with Harkonnens, to be one of them – and with a clip of fear, you worry you may never be able to unlearn. 

It has been long enough for a bout of thunder to rumble up in the heavens above; you turn to the young man who stands next to Lady Jessica.

Your betrothed watches you in a peculiar tilt of head – subtle, but analytical; a gaze so green you have to look away, nodding slightly as you speak once more. “My Lord,” your heart thuds in your chest uncomfortably, wondering if he, too, will be as displeased as Feyd so often was when you spoke to him; though Paul does not so much as move as he inhales softly, eyes coasting over your jaded silhouette.  

“My Lady.” He returns the formality with a voice much softer than expected; your heart is struck with a cool unease, distrust tightening its clutches around your throat.

A silent moment hangs thick between you; it is only then that you see the tense coil of Paul’s shoulders – surely a mirror of your own. Defiance, your mind tells you. Though Duncan Idaho’s voice cuts through your observations quickly. “We have much to discuss.” 

Cutting to the chase, as always; you are relieved for the attention to fall off your presence as you let out a short exhale. “Yes–” though the Duke lifts a brow, eyes caught on the lump of gauze which wraps around Duncan’s bicep, concealed by his uniform. “–Idaho, Do you need to see treatment?” He questions the Swordsman. 

As Duncan laughs, your shoulders tense; and before you can consider some quieter death, he begins to speak. “No. Harkonnen blades are sharp – but so are Lady Bourbon's nails.”

It is immediate, the prickling of eyes which befall you from all sides, and a heated stare from your betrothed that you steadfastly ignore for the sake of glaring at Duncan. There is a smirk growing on his lips as the Swordsman addresses you. “You fight differently than I remember, Little Bourbon.” 

An old nickname, unearthed from the catacombs of the life you once lived in the wintered palace of Sabberon; a nickname so cherished in your youth and so foreign now that it knocks the air from your chest. Resentment curls within you at the warmth upon his tongue. 

The shame floods you just as fast as the pride does, and in the aftermath, you stand just as rigid as before, hands clenched into the velvet of your skirt, seething under your veil. 

There is no hiding the shock upon the Atreides' countenances; before them stands some monster, some savagery wrapped up in a gown and a pretty smile hidden beneath a veil. 

It had been a habit – rabid hounds don't tuck tail when cornered, do they?

Nonetheless, you smile tight behind the veil, trying not to think of the life you've just left – of what cold life lies ahead. 

When you respond, your voice is frigid. “It has been a long time, Duncan.” You muse; Paul’s piercing gaze of green penetrates the veil, but you ignore him. 

“Threats demand evolution.” 

The rain is gone into mist by the next day.

It rolls in fog along the moors outside, taunting an echo of tides far below the castle – in the morning room, forks scrape over blue-plated China. A grandfather clock lives in the corner; the seconds pass in quiet, insistent ticks. 

A cleared throat, a swallow of water – air blown across a plane of steeped tea. 

Your eyes burn from exhaustion.

To your relief, your arrival last evening held no such time for small talk – you were whisked away by the service staff to make sure your quarters were comfortable; in the minutes you’d been given to yourself, you’d found the clothing of a former life – dresses, tops and trousers of yourself, your sisters and your mother; the dressings salvaged from the Castle on Sabberon in the week leading up to the trial at Harko Arena. 

All washed thrice of soot and rubble, hanging in wait of your touch within the wardrobes in the room. A sickening feeling had haunted you the moment you’d slipped your mother’s old ceremonial ferronnière and hair chain; the reflection of your stare in the mirror resembling too close the sharp gaze of her own. And that feeling had lingered in the shadows of your room still as you shut away the diadem of gold and emerald, the gowns, the old trousers your sister would wear to ritual; your eyes, burning along the skyline in the distance as you locked the wardrobe with trembling fingers. 

Late in the evening, you'd attended a meeting in a small conference hall. 

There, sat across from Paul, Masters of War and Swords and Strategy, a Mentat, and Lady Jessica, the Duke had asked you questions, ensuring you were not harmed – and perhaps more importantly, trying to ensure there was no malicious intent to your presence. It was in your sleepy haze you first detected the twitching motions of Lady Jessica's hands, the flicking gazes of the others as your voice carried to them. A war language, you’d realized quite quick. They think I am lying. 

You'd only been there for ten minutes before you were escorted by a handmaid back to your chambers, where you sat without rest through the night. 

Truthfully, you're breaking fast this morning with Lady Jessica and Lord Paul out of courtesy; You were up far before the sun had teased the horizon this morning, staring emotionless at the ghost who stood in the corner of your new chambers. 

He is not a new visitor; in the hazy world between waking and dreaming, you’re well used to the ghost – how he smirks by the foot of your mattress, whispering with sharp teeth, with sweet memories, with promises of blood and pain. You’d grown used to his presence, and you’d remained upright for most of the night – until something moved in the corner of your vision, and you screamed. 

That had woken one of the servants.

She came in with her head tilted down, holding a pitcher of water; you asked her to stay.

Her name is Hestia; close enough in age if not younger, as she must be merely twenty – the silence was hesitant but not wholly unpleasant as she’d sat, wary but willing as you shared the pot of tea brought for you. 

It wasn't until she'd brought you breakfast a few minutes later that you realized the staff must have been informed of your ancestral customs before your arrival – she said nothing as you ate silently, staring out towards the coast of rocky cliffs and rolling moors you could just barely make out from your chamber windows. She’d helped silently to smooth your hair under your veil as you’d drawn it in preparation to leave the room; and with a beat of hesitance, you’d almost admitted to her you did not wish to wear it. 

Now, you sit quite similarly; hands perched in your lap, tea in front of you untouched as the food on your plate. 

Your future husband sits across the table from you – with a motion sluggish and ruminating, he pushes the omelet around on his fork. You find the boyishly restless knee from Paul, one which  shakes the table just slightly, jilting your glass full of water. 

A polite and quiet conversation follows; some throw off observation of the weather this coming week, how you seem to have brought the sunshine – a comment that makes both you and your betrothed share a sharp glance; heat following the sudden shared connection. 

Efforts to bring you into such discussions are met with your polite, quiet words – and after a short time, a woman enters and whispers something to the Lady at the end of the table. Nodding, Lady Jessica takes her leave with a pointed look at Paul, suggesting he might escort you around the castle to settle you in.

Some cold dread licks its way up your spine, though you force yourself to nod – to adapt. “–If you have time, my Lord, I'd appreciate it.” 

He seems equally pricked by his mother’s suggestion, though he hides it quite well – a quiet, chivalrous demeanor suits his striking features, and you find your distrust mounting in some self-preserving effort. 

Lady Jessica’s leave brings a gust of air through the morning room, and soon you’re met with the scent of forest; a warm soap, sharp with the efforts of Caladan’s bright ocean salt and wooded hills to the west that lingers upon his skin. Your face flushes in the heat of the sudden morning rays, exposed by a gap in the clouds. 

It's silent for a few moments as only the two of you remain; Your food untouched, his half-eaten. 

The wall behind Paul boasts an intricate geometric wall of wood and empty-space; a fascinating architectural choice which complements the beauty of Caladan’s moors – you find yourself intent on tracing each line laid before you, ignoring the glossy glint of Paul’s hair in foresight. In the silence of youthful discomfort, the quiet feels inescapable – until it isn’t. 

“Are you one of them?”

His eyes trace you when you return to his visage. Them?

In a slow realization, it occurs to you that Paul might assume you are just as bald and sickly as each Harkonnen; that perhaps their soil, so poisoned, might have penetrated the evergreen veins that carry your life to each part of you – might have wilted the very things that make you so uniquely yourself. 

You shake your head, thankful for the lack of chains upon the crown of your head today; you are not a Harkonnen, and you never will be. 

Perhaps that would have been the preferred choice of words, but instead from your lips fall a curt sentence: “I have hair.” 

In the morning light, you glance at the skin of your arm; The skin that boasts arm hair, none of the sickly pale skin that knew of no clean air nor healthy sunlight – your skin, glowing with real melanin and health.

It is a brash choice to speak with such frivolity; You'd not dare speak so freely on Geidi Prime – stars, you'd never have spoken this freely at home on Sabberon, either – but there is no home anymore. 

And if you've learned one thing in your years since coming of age, it's that the Great and Noble Houses of the Landsraad are crawling with perjurers, fabricators; Paul is likely the same. 

If the Atreides boy must be wed to you, you cannot help that; They can dress you, insist on your traditional customs – but you will not go down easy. No matter how cold the home, you can be colder – you are more than the bones which hold you up; crueller than the demons that kept you in their ghostly grip for four years. 

Though at your words, Paul’s cheeks flush a peculiar pink – and his lip twitches in a momentary lapse of stoicism. A lost battle, it seems, as you are rewarded with a small, boyish grin flickering over his visage. “No,” he starts again, eyes penetrating your own somehow, even beneath the layers of green that wrap around you. His breath comes in a short exhale, “Not Harkonnen,” His elaboration grows quiet as he continues, “I meant…Bene Gesserit.”  

Your stomach chills. 

His eyes seem to know the words which whisper around your mind, and a faint sense of memory gnaws at the cage within your head. After only half a moment’s hesitation, you shake your head. “No, my Lord.”

It must be what he expected – he does not so much as blink; though a flicker of knowledge passes over his face and he closes off, eyes flashing. 

You are – despite your resolve – coaxed by his expression to continue, “I suppose I was…” Your hand tugs the sleeve of your gown. 

“–Or, I was supposed to be.” 

Your tone, unemotional; Paul bites back the suspicion that climbs up his throat. He’s no fool; he saw the glances between his mother and you, however short – in those breaths, the buzzing of his mother’s whispers behind shut doors, her eyes quaking and steadfast in the same. 

And, of course, the lapping memories of dreams upon a beach of consciousness; a face beneath a shroud, a whisper from golden lips, a pathway dimly lit and forked into the foggy horizon. 

He stands when you rise from your seat.

The dress you wear is unlike any he’s seen outside of your culture’s books; a waterfall of emerald that pools and flows – some frozen-limbed weeping willow, kissing the face of a thawing lake. He offers an arm to you, and you loop yourself to him with only a breath of hesitation. 

Your voice comes again from those lips so hidden behind the veil of pine. “I was supposed to be a lot of things.” 

Your voice is undeniably beautiful; strong, cold, unwilling. Polite, yes – but calculating, aggressive. Coiled in a nest, watching, waiting to strike. 

She tells the truth. 

His mother had signaled during the council the night before a dissection of your honesty; Yet trust is a fragile thing, and as much as he places faith in Duncan and his father, the thought lingers of distrust. 

He saw the claw marks you'd left upon Duncan; a man you've known since you were a young girl. By decree, Paul is now bound to you in marriage; but he has spent endless hours unraveling the Harkonnens — their cunning, their strategy, their thirst for power – and yet, according to Duncan, the Baron and his brutish nephew simply let you go, unscathed and unpursued. 

It gnaws at him, such inexplicable mercy from a house that knows no such thing.

Paul’s wariness does not bleed through his posture, as indeed it does not with you: You walk with your chest out, back as straight as a soldier’s; your words are cordial, indifferent. 

Halls pass as he murmurs a light overview of the castle’s history, introducing you to Houseworkers as you stop to greet them; he is rather surprised by your indifferent charm that seems to enrapture the workers and scare them all the same; he wonders, then, what this life will be like, when you become the Duchess and he Duke. 

A revolt in his heart; one childish and quelled by duty and understanding – and by his father’s words, burnt sharp into his mind. 

Duty often requires us to navigate paths we may not have chosen for ourselves, Paul. You may not always like her, but you will treat her with the respect and care befitting of a future wife. 

Love may come to you in other ways. But you will marry her, you will respect her, and when the time comes, together you will sire an heir.

Outside the walls, it is quiet – the wind is calmed, the tide drawn by the looming moon in the morning sky; you and Paul share no more than one unintentional glance broken up by wind-warmed cheeks and a softly cleared throat. 

It is not until he escorts you along a path that winds down out of your sights that he notices your change in demeanor. Beside him, you take a deep breath, footsteps faltering as you slow – a blink of concern until he follows the direction of your veil towards a clump of moss sprawled across the earth. Curiously, Paul slows to a stop beside you.

For a moment, you stare down at the dirt and fallen tree limbs, the grassy field and rocks; though as if an invisible string pulls you upwards, you snap your head, voice sheepish behind your veil. “Apologies, my Lord.” You start to turn, “I've read of plants like this, but never seen them before in person.” 

It is an odd moment in which Paul comes to understand: He knows what Giedi Prime is like, and your homeworld, from what he's read in the books on Sabberon, is mostly Glaciers, forests, and high altitudes. 

The notion of you finding interest in Caladan’s flora and fauna is as bizarre as it is endearing – and so instead of moving along, Paul bends to grasp a bit of moss from a fallen trunk. 

Your veiled visage tracks him as he returns to his full height; The earthy dirt spreads between his nimble fingers, green and soft against his skin. You watch him silently, curiously.

“It absorbs up to twenty times its dry weight in water,” He explains in an echo of an old ecological lesson, pushing the spongy material with the nail of his thumb. “Banks of it grow just around the brackish tidepools below the castle.”

Your interest, piqued, causes your head to crane slightly from your small height – he can tell, even without seeing any part of your face, that you are fascinated; it brings him a moment of pride. 

At his gesture towards the coastline just peeking below, you follow in a slow move of interest, breath coming soft from hidden lips. He watches the side of your silhouette flutter in the breeze. “Am I allowed to see?” You ask stiffly, arms hanging at your sides.

An odd request – one which penetrates any semblance of protectiveness for his homeworld and instead strikes alarm in his chest. What such monsters do you come from that you must ask such foolish questions? 

He lets the moss fall back to the stump, brows furrowing. “You are to be Lady Atreides one day.” His voice does not reveal any hint of his resistance to this fact, and for this, he is grateful. “You do not have to ask permission to see your own land.” He finishes, cheeks warm with the insistence of the seabreeze and the alarm which still thuds through his heart. 

You have grown quiet – in the rushing blow of wind, you are still as an evergreen. 

The wind from the sea whips in misty breaths even this high; inky tresses swirl around his vision and are swept away by his own hand – there are no words from you for several very long breaths, in which you clear your throat. 

“I…do not feel well.” Your voice is sudden, thick with some hint of insistence – though your spine does not bend, it does not yield; a small breath as your head cranes up. Paul sees a glint of eyes through the ripple of green. “Please, if you would excuse me.”

It is not below Paul to entertain your fib – for your sake, sure; but rather for the growing weight of bitterness that festers in his chest each time he thinks of what is to come. Paul escorts you to your chambers in a tense silence that echoes only the footfalls and the swishing of velveted fabric. 

You slip into your chambers with a polite and half-whispered thanks to his looming frame. Paul watches the fabric of your dress curl around the corner as the door shuts. 

Upon his return to his own quarters, Paul catches Hestia; a girl known long before she began working for the House. He requests she bring you some bread and cheese, and send Dr. Yueh to check on you once more.

An insistent tapping grates in his mind as he stalks the corridor towards his rooms; a clock from halls away, ticking away the seconds – hands clench, flex; an itching shiver down his spine as he turns corner towards his chambers. A flicker of green around the corner just across the hall sends his stomach to tense, stilling in a moment of suspicion; hackles raised, Paul blinks away paranoia as a Houseworker trims a houseplant. A hand swipes over his visage, massaging his eyes. 

Threats demand evolution. 

The memory of your voice pierces his thoughts – and without a second thought, he turns heel and makes towards the training room, fingers itching for a blade. 

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[syndrossi]

Halloween trick-or-treat prompts masterlist

For my own personal tracking, a semi-up-to-date list of the prompts and whether they've been filled for eventual treating on Halloween! Feel free to chime in in the replies with ones you'd particularly like to see filled if it's not getting love. I kinda picked the first one in the list and will otherwise do them as fancy strikes me.

Eventually I'll probably link these to their actual fills once published on Halloween.

What is trick-or-treat?

It's basically me sourcing a bunch of prompts for short fills (likely around 100-500 words apiece) in the Resonant 'verse that I can give out on Halloween as "treats" when people send me a "trick" ask!

Note that it's highly unlikely that I'll get to all of them, since there are over 60 of them, and I probably won't do more than 1 a day. Bold = complete, bold italics = up next.

Original post with prompts if anyone wants to comb through the replies to read the "fuller" prompts.

Missing Scenes

Caraxes POV of growing fond of the hatchlings

Laenor + Rhaenys + V boys discussing twins

Viserys POV of learning of boys

Random person's POV of the court discovering Rhea's treason/Daemon has trueborn twin sons

Erryk, Arryk or Harold's POV/thoughts on Jon and Rhaegar

Ser Willam's POV/thoughts on anything at all

Laenor POV when he found out about Daemon's twins

Laena's POV on being told that her betrothal is over and a match with Daemon might be incoming

Aemond’s POV about the twins, seeing his perspective of how wonderful Rhaegar is and his slow dawning resentment of Jon

More courtier reactions to Daemon and the boys

Jeyne’s reaction to Rheas confession and the arrival of Otto to the Vale

Ser Perkins' POV during the time the boys were "reborn"

Watercooler discussion of Daemon’s prodigy children

Alternate POVs of Canon Scenes

Caraxes POV of meeting the boys

Viserys POV of debrief scene

Rhaegar POV of first waking up/meeting Jon

Viserys POV when the twins take him to task and he’s left alone with the crown

The kidnappers’ POV 🚧

Rhaegar's POV when Jon gave him the bracelet

POV of Aegon/Aemond on the new family members

Ser Kelwyn arriving at the keep or POV on Daemon and the twins

Rhaegar from Daemon's vision reacting to him in his final moments

Halloween-themed Prompts

Qelebrys + apple cider round 2

Shadow + discovering a pumpkin

Twins + hatchlings + piles of colorful leaves

Cousins telling scary stories around a candle in the dark

Jon&Rhaegar discovering an old spooky room lost in the tunnels

Daemon + kids who swear they are not scared but also who can't seem to sleep because of Things That Go Bump In The Night

Rhaegar + singing and/or harp playing (bonus: if it's a ~haunting melody~)

Shadow (and Qelebrys) meeting a stray black cat

Jon and Rhaegar dressing up as Ser Erryk and Ser Arryk, bonus points if they convince Cargyll twins to play along

Jon and Rhaegar going to a costume party as Caraxes and Vhagar to echo Aemon and Baelon

Daemon dreams of Aemon and Baelon meeting the boys

What-ifs

What if Rhea didn't die?

What if Rhaegar was also 19 when the twins get Summerhalled?

What if Jon and Rhaegar’s pre-Summerhall ages were flipped?

Reversal!AU: Daemon's reaction to suddenly having eight-year-old twin little girls

What if the twins were born right after Rhea and Daemon's wedding? plus bonus Jaehaerys POV/reaction

What if Ghost is reborn in the Resonant 'verse and finds Jon?

What if the boys wake up at age 5 and Daemon finds them earlier?

Miscellaneous Prompts

Rhaenys rescues twins from Otto

Jon&Rhaegar + dancing

New Otto POV in which he schemes and/or thinks about how smart and gifted and annoyingly perfect Daemon's children are

Daemon POV wherein he thinks about how smart and gifted and perfect his babies are

Candle's POV on being dropped to the bottom of the ocean where it can only watch the fishes

Jon having another Little Lord Commander moment and/or punching someone who deserves it

Jon + Jace/Luke/Joffrey playing with his new wooden ship toys

Viserys + Jace/Luke besieging him with requests for Vermax/Arrax to be allowed in the Red Keep too

Jon + Rhaegar + Daemon + hugs, tears and manipulation tactics for nefarious purposes

Jon + getting his hair braided

Jon and/or Rhaegar getting sick + Daemon being traumatized by every sneeze/cough/etc

Jon + Rhaegar introducing Jace/Luke to the words "stick 'em with the pointy end"

Rhaegar + Alicent or Daemon with harp playing/singing

The boys foiling someone’s attempts to flirt with Daemon

Some funny scene related to Daemon's marriage hunt

A scene from Jon/Rhaegar's past lives, people reacting to their disappearance

POV of someone from the Kingsguard watching the children play 

Helaena, Jon and Rhaegar interactions? She deserves to have a twirl around the ballroom or play with the hatchlings again.

Someone “joking” that Otto is besotted with Daemon the way he keeps talking about him

Another sleepover? Daemon and/or Rhaegar catching Jon trying to get up early and just squishing him

Daemon learning what the twins gave each other for their last name day

Sassy and manipulative Rhaegar scene (destroying Viserys or random courtier)

Rhaegar singing to a larger audience and the reactions people give

Jon biting someone who’s keeping him and Rhaegar from their dad, bonus points if it’s a TG member

POV of someone thinking how similar the twins are to their father

Daemon accidentally overhearing the twins being sad, feeling destroyed, and trying his best to cheer them up

A meeting between Daemon and canon!Rhaegar in a vision

Daemon running on instinctive dad-mode rescues one of the Green kids from a minor peril

Daemon overhears an upsetting song

[yanderefarm]

i mean fish have very weird/freaky (at least to our grounded-mammalian standards) mating/pregnancy procedures like,,,

clownfish (trans fish), anglerfish (literal fusion), seahorse (males kangaroo the baby), sharks (literal colosseum in the womb), octopi (they have to be virgins to live)...

and male ones are the ones with the most nesting/territorial instincts...so... comparatively, behaviorally speaking... he's basically masc nephyte at the very least. that and the 'haha seahorse dad'.

i think merman would work similar to other aquatic mammalians??? like orcas or whales, they're kinda matrialchal? often mermaids are depicted as women so... maybe they are matriarchal? afaik lots of fish have males as the bottom of the ladder.

and i think him having weird fish instincts would mesh well with the unknowingly-courting-him darling has w/ him and the yan aspect... especially with more sadistic darling... like a weird fish version of w/e a male mantis/spider has for their partners or smth... and to differentiate him further from nephy, it could be an actual instinctual thing instead of prejudice / weird misoginy? not like noemi or achilles. like, actual instict/need.

or he's an actually normal, army veteran but with fish fins and stockholm syndrome. idk, spitballing some ideas since i didn't see him have a lot of opportunity for his yandere-ness to shine.

can't believe i'm creating worldbuilding for some fictional man.

god now i cant stop thinking about him having claspers and it's not even in the horny way.

-👻 (i feel like i should've been 🤓 all along /joking)

NERD

no actually that makes a lot of sense I didn't even think about it. he probably like always assumed he would be the one courting a big strong mermaid who can crush him and then you just casually pick him up and he's flustered. like "oh no. this human is really strong and also nurturing... like the perfect husband..."

and i really like the idea of him instinctively being like praying mantis where he expects to knock you up and then get his head eaten. and instead youre sadistic but you always keep him alive. i can imagine him asking himself what he's doing wrong!! why isn't he a good enough mate to get killed c'mon man :(

that also gives a new light to the cannibal stuff because like... imagine he's torn between the horror and fear of humans and the instinctive arousal of being a source of sustenance for his mate.

i imagined his yandere as relatively harmless. he likes stalking you and sinking ships that get near you but I actually like this more. the idea that he ends up ripping apart anything that comes near you before he can even understand what he's doing.

i also like the idea of him having this instinct to lure you into the water, he wants to drown you but he also knows that would mean losing you and he really doesn't want that.

[jacktheeldergod2]

Poll time y'all

As part of a multidimensional alternative rehabilitation program you were randomly selected to be the master of an otherworldly criminal for an unspecified amount of time,your options being:

The eldest vampire of a parallel earth long lost to ruin,a girl from the very first batches of homo sapiens evolution crafted. Speaks only her tribe's language but has a little translator pendant to understand you. Her crimes were described as pestilence spreading for eons. Wants to hunt constantly. Plays single player videogames and exercises. Does little to nothing else. Immune to the sun and holy symbols,claims she was allergic to garlic since garlic was a thing. Wants to sleep hugging someone,the more people the merrier to her

Alecorax the one who knows. a dragon of purple and orange coloration the size of a cruise ship. Knows more than you can comprehend and yields magic so skillfully that he slayed the gods of his realm all by himself in a fight that took 37852 years and 29 days. His crimes are deicide and experimentation on people. The only reason he won't kill you is cause he was allowed to not have to share any of his knowledge horde with you. Will ignore you half the time.

A salamander made of broken obsidian. Consumes all the heat around it slowly but surely. Its crimes are going to the core of multiple planets and over the eons freezing them in a quest to be the last alive in its world. Always complains about how there are more dimensions with more even more planets it has to kill now. Is is constantly snuffing out heat sources.

Irene the daughter of air. A siren that controlled the minds of billions of civilizations with her music and committed the biggest count of tax evasion in the known multiverse. Can stop your anxiety or bring you exquisite sleep with a mere whistle. If you look at her purple scales long enough it may take hours or days for you to snap out of your trance. Will either steal your money or everyone elses,your choice. Refers to Freddie Mercury and robopup as fellow sirens. Can hear your thoughts. Heard that insult you thought of and laughed at you

Though-shall-not-bow-to-evil. An angel that killed an unspecified amount of innocents by accident and thus fell. Has 28 wings and 4 faces,covered in armor that conceals their perfectly smooth,spotless shining form. Deeply regretful and cries rose water almost every time they remember their sin. will do anything you ask even if it kills them. Will follow into the next life if you reincarnate,won't stop following you until you are in a comfortable afterlife

Dilar the dealer. A fey with a bug like form hidden under their suit,hat and stained glass mask. They will kill you if you try to touch their mask or undo their clothes. Their crimes were simply described as fraud. Will try to get you to make deals with them. Proceed with them at your own risk

Cornelius the last court jester of the court of witchcraft. No one knows how this one man who was once a mere eunuch guard that watched over a warlord's harem of slaves became the most trusted man in the court of witchcraft nor how he killed them all. He doesn't have to disclose this information to you. His crimes are mass murder as well as the theft and hiding of all the magic items of the court and its participants. Jokes about everything that is brought to his attention

Slorvenovia the traitorous queen. A giant type of bee or wasp,you can't really tell. As big as the average plane. Ate all of her kind on her world and devoured her own genitals as to never bear spawn again. Claims she did it so she could be the only one as beautiful as her race is. Can turn to a humanoid form,a 2 meters tall woman with blond here and hazel eyes. Will beat the shit out of you if you demand honey from her and will side eye you if you consume any honey

The presence. An incorporeal invisible being with only the ones it desires feeling its presence. Can do any menial task,housework,your job and more,always leaving notes ridiculing the job it did,calling it too easy. Will do tasks you didn't tell it to and mock you for not remembering to tell it to do them. Its crimes are described as sightseeing

The weather beetle. a big humanoid machine made of gold,hunched over and with 8 arms helping it walk in an animalistic manner,fully composed of glass and gold. Many machines detecting,analyzing and controlling the weather lie upon it's back. Jolly and curious. Its crimes are creating weather phenomena that almost killed all the lifeforms on its world in a week. It's confused as it thinks that the weather is something whose damages would always be excused and doesn't understand why it was punished

Spade the knight of every forest. A σπουργίτι(type of small bird) with a needle made out of porcupine quill he uses as a sword. Speaks of his glorious queen often,seems deeply in love with her although he denies it, rambling about how dishonorable it would be to pine over the king's wife. Talks in a deep boastful voice,sings without a semblance of rhythm. Asks to kill specific people,not saying why. Similar murders landed him in this program. Gathers lost coins to buy fig tarts

Sfera the haunted pistol. A demon locked in an old colt revolver. Speaks to you in your head. Weathered with little of her hilt painted white anymore. Starts laughing proudly when her crimes are mentioned,which were described as "crimes of war". Always asks to be repainted and polished,gets all mushy when these requests are fulfilled. Always suggests vile actions and brutal solutions to you. While you own her no bullet will touch you and she'll never run out of lead for you to shoot. Demands to listen to guns and roses,queen and nirvana in the morning,always demands you read old myths to her before bed,often asking for the works of Homer

The godmother. A 9 foot tall ethereal undead with pale skin and pure white glazed over eyes. She's soft spoken but starts yelling at you if you don't follow her wishes. Her crimes were described as child abuse,child endangerment and use of chemical weapons as discipline methods. Tries to lead your behavior in any way she can. Not allowed to hurt you or disobey your wishes at all. This is for your own safety

@1969chevycamaro @whereserpentswalk @everythingismadeofchaos @techiekittie @trashsouppossum @ononpetitecroissant @parsley-and-lesbianism @polkadotsunshine @strange-and-stupid @doyoudreamofwater @dackychansworldofhoshino @dh-ng @decoysender @foxundermoon @frozen-antifreeze @gloriousvermin @kinkshame-puncher-666 @kirkland-brand-witch @leavesswaytoday @bisexual-bat @bellaphomet3 @mmmmmmky @mun-urufu @moonsfavoritedaughter

[rizzoreads88]

I know you love theories so help me out!

If the cauldron is corrupt like we learned in HOFAS and Elriel are mates, wouldn't that call into question every other mated couple? Feyre and Rhys? Nesta and Cassian? Vivienne and Kallias? It's the one plot hole for the elriel ship I can't get behind!!! UGH I WANT THEM SO BAD! Have you made a tiktok on this yes?

Hi Anon! Thanks for the ask. This is going to be a LONG response….Yes if the cauldron was corrupted it would mean all cauldron mated pairs would need to be questioned. I have done a few Tiktoks on this but I think there is a few things to look at….

✨Did the cauldron decide all these mated couples?In Acowar Rhysand says multiple sources can make mate bonds.✨

“What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

So theoretically different mate pairs could have different types of mate bonds. What if the mother is a true soul bond? We see pairs like Feysand, Nessian & Kallias and Vivianne are also love matches. They act like typical mates. Even before their bond snapped they all had mate behavior.We know Cassian had a feeling Nesta was his mate before she was turned. Rhysand had visions of Feyre before she was turned as well. Lucien doesn’t know Elain is his mate until after she comes out of the cauldron. Granted that was also the first day they met so it could just be coincidence as well but they are the only mated pair ever questioned about being wrong for each other. They are the only mated pair people question the cauldron over.

We know the asteri/daglan look at every species beneath them as food. So what if the cauldron bond is purely based off of pairing people who can have the strongest offspring? This would create stronger “food” for the asteri. We know when Elain went into the cauldron Azriel was also shot w a bloodbane arrow. Which nullifies/dampens mate bonds while a person is infected in it. In Acowar when Feyre is infected with faebane(faebane=bloodbane) Rhysand cannot feel the mate bond.

“I wondered if Rhys was looking for me. If he’d felt the silence. I should have gotten a message out. Told him I was going and how to find me. The faebane—that was why the bond had sounded so muffled.”

“No matter that the bond between Rhys and me … I couldn’t so much as feel it. A numbness had spread through me. I needed to get out—now.”

“As if he’d heard it down the bond, Rhys finally murmured, “When the bond went dark, I thought …” Fear—genuine terror shadowed his eyes,”

So what if the cauldron chose Lucien as Elains mate then because he was strongest at that moment?

✨Is it possible Elain has two mates?✨

What if Azriel is Elains Mother Mate and Lucien is her cauldron mate? Azriel has shown more mate behavior towards Elain then Lucien Has. (Him lending her truth teller but no one else, Him willing to die to save her from hyberns camp, Him bleeding out and injured and carrying her through the camp not willing to get looked at until he knows she’s ok, him figuring out she’s a seer when no one else could, his shadows wanting to physically attack Nesta for insulting Elain, Him getting angry when remember hyberns kidnapping in Acosf, His bonus chapter ect) Madja also points out in Acowar a mate would know what’s amiss and Lucien couldn’t figure out what was wrong with Elain but Azriel did and It helped her get better. In Acosf it’s pointed out how Lucien is fine living away from Elain and that’s not typical for mates. SJM has also said it is possible for someone to have two mates.

✨Lucien and Elain don’t act like typical mates✨

When Elain was taken back to the Night court in Acomaf Lucien doesn try to go after her for months. Now keep in mind at this point Lucien thought the she was kidnapped to the Night Court & that they were their enemy and did awful things to woman. He doesn’t try to go after Elain himself for months but asks Tamlin to go get her. In Acowar when Jurian is making jokes about Illyrians r*ping Elain again Lucien says nothing. It’s Tamlin who says something to Jurian. In Acomaf when everything is going on at Hybern and the sisters are about to be thrown in Its Tamlin who first tries to attack the king to stop him from throwing the sisters in. Then when Tamlin is trying to stop this Lucien then acts. If Lucien knew Elain was his mate before the cauldron he should have had a reactions as soon as Elain was brought in tied up.Logically Even though he didn’t know she was his mate , mate instincts should have kicked In subconsciously. The way we see Kallias’s did trying to protect Viviane before there mate bond snapped. The way Cassian tried crawling towards Nesta before she got thrown in. The way Rhysand was was screaming when amarantha attacked feyre before he knew they were mates. Then in Acosf he is fine living away from his mate. Elain is fine with him living elsewhere. Another big difference is Lucien and Elain find out they are mates and started talking yet Elain later on starts to like Azriel. There is a lot of hints Lucien is starting to feel something for Vassa too. With every other mated pair once they meet even if they didn’t end up together right away they didn’t start having feelings for or start anything w anyone else. We see after Feyre spent time with Rhysand UTM things start to fall apart between her and Tamlin. After Nesta and Cassian meet they don’t date or have feelings for anyone else. (Yes in the beginning of Acosf nesta was sleeping with other men but she didn’t have feelings for them she was using them as a coping mechanism.)Once Aelin Met Rowan her and Chaol were over for good. Once Bryce met Hunt there was no one else. All other mated pairs also have chemistry. Even when they had enemies to lovers things going on and seemingly couldn’t stand each other there was always attraction and tension. There is none of that with Elain and Lucien. & lastly we know mates make each other better. Elain and Lucien make each other worse. In Acosf it is said Elain shrinks in on herself and loses her newfound boldness around Lucien. She actually reverts around him. Lucien is sad around Elain and can’t stand to be in the same room as her. They are both stilted and uncomfortable around each other.

✨It’s also interesting in Acowar that when Feyre is questioning E/ucien we are introduced to the fact that not all mate bonds are love matches and that the bond can be rejected.✨

✨If Azriel was Elains mate wouldn’t he know by now?✨

Would he though? So far in the books we haven’t met anyone who had multiple mates? Theoretically what if he is feeling something with a mate bond for elain but he doesn’t know it’s actually a mate bond he’s feeling because she already has a mate and doesn’t think it’s a possibility? You ever wonder why he has a physical reaction to E/uciens mating bond? We have never seen this before….

……

To me it’s very telling that in Azriels bonus chapter he directly questions the cauldron over Elain and Lucien and then The very next book we find out the cauldron was in fact corrupted so he was right to question it. We also find this out in a crossover he is heavily involved in 👀

Now am I saying I 100% think Azriel and Elain are mates too? No. Right now in the books Elain and Lucien are mates. But am I ruling out the possibility of all this? No im not doing that either. There are many ways this could play out. I also think there is a possibility E\uciens mate bond is a fake bond. The way Rowan and Lyrias was. I would personally love for Elain and Lucien to both reject their bond and choose love over the mating bond. Elain with Azriel & Lucien with Vassa. I think that would give us two seperate epic romances.

I can’t deny though that something is off with Lucien and Elains mate bond. I also can’t deny that Azriel does act like a mate more then Lucien. I think SJM left herself ALOT of options and possibilities. I think regardless of which way SJM takes Elains story her book will really deep dive mate bonds and destiny vs choice.

[random-jot]

Prediction for OPLA Season 2 episode breakdown:

*Note: this is assuming it has the same episode count as season one, 8, though I wouldn’t be surprised if Season 2 ends up having ten given both the positive reception to the first one and the amount of content from the Alabasta arc has to adapt

Episode One:

Loguetown and Reverse Mountain. Luffy & Co arrive at Loguetown, the now teamed-up Buggy & Alvida launch a surprise attack. Smoker and Tashigi introduced, each respectively has their first confrontation with Luffy and Zoro. The rest of the Straw Hats’ escapades (Usopp’d sniping duel and Sanji’s cooking contest) are downplayed/cut for time. Possible Bartolomeo cameo. Episode ends with the Merry sailing over Reverse mountain, possible cliffhanger ending as the ship sails into Laboon.

Episode Two:

Laboon, Whiskey Peak, Little Garden Start. The episode will open with a heavily abridged sequence around Laboon, then move swiftly to Whiskey Peak, which will entail the majority of the episode, big focus on Zoro solo-ing the small fry of Baroque Works, Zoro & Luffy’s fight (though likely a shorter fight than in the original) and Vivi reveal. Episode ends with crew either heading to or arriving at Little Garden.

Episode Three:

Little Garden Cont.’ Dorry and Broggy introduced, pray for the CGI budget, Zoro & Sanji have their dinosaur hunting competition, Mr. Three attacks the group. Sanji gets his first ‘Mister Prince’ moment on the snail transponder - this will play out slightly differently, possibly he steals the transponder from Three after they defeat him. Nami falls ill suddenly, Dorry and Broggy send them off to the next island.

Episode Four: 🦌❄️

Drum Island. The crew arrive at Drum Island and begin searching for a doctor to save Nami. Wapol l is downplayed as a villain with more focus on the urgency of curing Nami’s and introducing certain more important new characters. Possibly the last scene gives us our first look at Chopper.

Episode Five: 🦌❄️

Drum Island Cont.’ Chopper’s backstory is told on flashback; this takes up maybe half the episode, similarly to how Sanji’s backstory was told in season one. Wapol attacks again but is deslt with relatively quickly. Drum Island wraps up with Chopper joining the crew and the Straw Hats setting sail for Alabasta proper. Slight possibility that Wappol is near cut entirely, a la Krieg, and the villain for this arc is another member of Baroque Works.

Episode Six:

Alabasta. The Alabasta arc proper begins, much faster paced than in the source. Mr 2 meeting happens but briefer than in the source. Straw Hats aim to take down Crocodile directly. Smoker catches up to the Straw Hats. Ace is introduced and given a bigger role than in the source, helping them escape Smoker. Perhaps episode ends with Luffy and Smoker captured together.

Episode Seven:

Alabasta Cont.’ If not in the last episode, this episode will center around the Casino, we’ll get Sanji’s big ‘Mr. Prince’ moment, the various high-ups of Baroque Works will begin making their moves (Mr 2 imitating the king etc.) Luffy and Crocodile’s first fight, with Luffy being left for dead as a possible cliffhanger episode ending.

Episode Eight:

Alabasta Concludes. The final showdown to save Alabasta begins. Various Straw Hats fight the Various members of Baroque Works, the members of Vivi’s court try to stop Crocodile’s bomb, Luffy reappears at a clutch moment for his big rematch with Crocodile. Episode seems as though it ends with a slightly altered version of the “X” moment, but all of a sudden Nico Robin appears on the ship and asks to join their crew. Season Ends.

General other thoughts:

It’s gonna be a lot to squeeze into 8 episodes, so my guess is like season one, there will have to be some pretty brutal cuts. As mentioned, I feel like Wapol might be downplayed to give more room for heavier hitting villains, in addition the various Baroque Works high-ups will be downplayed, with the exception of Bon Clay and Mr 3. We will see Nico Robin doubting her allegiance to Crocodile sooner. Smoker’s role will be increased, with he and Tashigiri pursuing the crew like Garp did in season one. Buggy and Alvida will show up a few more times but continue to be unsuccessful. Koby and Garp will appear, though far less frequently than in season one.

For a possible post-credits tease, the meeting to decide who will take Crocodile’s place as a member of the Seven Warlords.

Looking forward to it airing and seeing how close I got!

[thatswhatsushesaid]

ok so i understand why it's appealing to read junlian (like i'm literally in that camp with all the respectable fans with impeccable tastes) but. but i think it's Important for the sake of fully Understanding their dynamic and representing it in the most accurate way to keep in mind - at all times - that it was always meant to be a (pseudo)parental relationship first and foremost.

JW is not the representation of a toxic jealous ex. he's the representation of a toxic parent who will traumatise you in the most horrific ways while saying (and genuinely believing in his own mind) that he's only doing it for your own good. he loves you because you remind him of all the good parts of himself. he can't stand seeing his own reflection in you. he won't ever let you go. it breaks his heart to have to break you, but what choice does he have? the outside world is cruel and it's his job to prepare you for suffering.

yeah i don't think the source material supports a read of jun wu's relationship with xie lian as an ex of any kind tbh, that's not the vibe i got at any point while reading the books. my shipping goggles aside, i hope i haven't conveyed that through my of my commentary, and if i have--oops! was it the comparison i drew between junlian and hannigram in my meme? i mean, even though by s3 the question of hannibal being explicitly in love with will graham is broached on screen by bedelia du maurier (to say nothing of their overtly intimate embrace before they tumble off the cliff together), s1 is where the comparison between the two dynamics really works for me. because imo hannibal's fascination with will at that point is at its most paternalistic, and will's rejection of him at the end of s1 when he finds out (or believes he's found out!) what hannibal did to abigail is analogous to xie lian's complete rejection of jun wu the moment he sees his reflection in the sword. end-of-s1 will is about as interested in hannibal romantically as he is in voluntarily eating abigail's ear: he isn't, he didn't ask for this, he's in hell, etc. similarly, xie lian's entire understanding of his relationship with jun wu, the rock and fundament of his time in the heavenly court, has just been irreparably destroyed. from his perspective, everything he thought he knew and understood to be true about their relationship was built on lies, and he's not wrong.

all that to say, while i do think that the text can support a romantic read of jun wu's feelings towards xie lian without ever explicitly confirming it as such, i for sure agree with you that that wasn't mxtx's intention when writing the dynamic. she's pretty clear, again and again when describing how xie lian sees jun wu, that his behaviour is seen and interpreted as parental and fatherly.

[rumbleonthemill]

here's my experience with fandoms recently. (I'm gen y)

they're not about fangirling together anymore (changed around 2020). they're about one person trying to police the other (they should be equal). harassers trying to tell, what one is and isn't allowed to love.

toxicity.

communities are full of narcissistic abusers and I won't stop saying it until people's eyes OPEN.

people literally dig in strangers' past and pages to find ONE mistake so they can "cancel" aka "destroy" the person, like authoritarian regimes did. it feels like someone in fandoms is at the court. even the harassers are in nonstop fear..who knows what skeletons fall out of their closet tomorrow, hm?

I'll say it; even them purposely pushing you out of their circles, or dehumanizing you bc of your OPINION is confirming the described toxic behavior.

mob mentality. strangers just believe things about a stranger..told by another stranger. it's mostly happening due to envy, jealousy, or..someone shipping something else.

fandoms are not safe spaces anymore, not for the ""weird"", who used to escape there.

people do zero research on fandom and source material history. they do blind callouts without any evidence, or with faked evidence even.

a lot of (not all, though) newcomers pretend to know everything better than veterans.

fandom's death is the following: fandom lives -> harassers/antis arrive and start harassing people they disagree with-> good and chill people end up leaving due to harassment -> harassers get to the next fandom to seek for new targets -> kids with 0 knowledge and fetish people remain in fandom -> fandom just dies.

"block button..there's a block button?!"

feel free to expand this list with your experiences. reblog and share!

[sunwarmed-ash]

🔥Sinful Sunday🔥11/3 🔔new wip dropping 👀

Chapter 1: You're not the first or the last, but you're possibly the prettiest

Fandom: White Collar Ships: El/Peter/Neal, former Neal/Matt/Kate (with flashbacks) Rating/Trigger Warnings: Explicit; Self harm, Suicide attempt Tags: The Minor A/B/O rewrite, Alpha!Peter, Beta!El, Omega!Neal, pre-poly, angst, hurt/comfort, Heat/ABO cycles, Protective Peter, bi Neal Caffrey, eventual smut, more tags to be added Preview:

When Neal comes out the south gate, he’s got quite a bit more pep in his step. Peter supposes getting released from prison can do that to a person’s attitude. But he can’t let Neal get too excited. Because this isn’t summer camp, this is a federal punishment. One that would come down hard on Peter if it failed. It needs to be treated accordingly. 

“Let me see it,” he instructs when Neal is only a few steps away.

Neal stops walking to pull up his pant leg. 

“You like,” Neal smiles, showing off the ankle monitor. “I’m officially yours.”

The phrase catches Peter off guard, because Neal’s always been flirty, buts it's never felt this direct. And that's why his neck and cheeks are flushed. No other reason… And he will be sticking to that story in court. 

“You know what this means right,” Peter pivots. 

“Yeah,” Neal agrees, “I'm released into your custody as property of the FBI with this horrible eye sore on my ankle as a permanent fashion piece. Anything I'm missing?”

“Yeah. if you run, and I catch you, which I know I will because I’m 2-0, you're not just back here for four years you're here for good. Got it?”

“Yeah Peter," Neal sighs a little irritably, "I got it.”

“You're going to be tempted to look for Kate, don’t.”

Neal’s earlier smile fades.

“Trust me, she doesn't want to hear from me.” 

It's a very different dismissal than the way he reacted weeks ago. Harshly confident enough Peter almost buys it. Almost.

“Alright. Let's get going then.”

“Hey, uh, Peter?”

“Yeah?”

“Why... you decide to do this? Let me go, I mean?”

Peter opened his mouth to answer but his tongue freezes in his mouth. 

"Because..."

Because, as soon as I set eyes on you today the bad feeling i've been feeling for weeks compounded tenfold. Almost like it was congratulating me for locating its source and scolding me for waiting so long. 

Because, you looked like you were on death's door less than an hour ago and if those bandages are what I think they are, my mistake was seconds away from causing me to lose you for good. 

Because, I can't have one more soul on my conscious. Especially not yours...  

“my wife thinks you’re a romantic.” 

kofi ao3

[cupcakestreets]

https://www.tumblr.com/cupcakestreets/769361234082578432/prince-au-gluttons?source=share

Too shy to show face when I share this idea....a bit of something I just realized that im curious if it will be in a future...just a random thought I had and if it sounds stupid...just a plot idea I wanted to share...based off how creme brulee seems to want freedom while red velvet wants the kingdom...got idea based off both perspectives or atleast my interpretation of them. If it's wrong or if you get offended by thought I wanted to share I am so so sorry!

(Disclaimer before I share below: I think the red velvet x creme brulee ship is very cute...sorta gives off the vibe of a war song because general and musician...also creme brulee being the melody that soothes the beasts...this will be apparent in second part of idea...the confession part lol!)

But will creme Brulee ever get the idea of marrying red velvet but then divorcing him and leaving him the kingdom while he runs off to do what he wants? Like a sorta 'ok we are married now but listen, I know you're just marrying me to form a bond to this kingdom and I am just doing this to keep everyone safe but I desire freedom from everything! From this crown, all the pressure with it! So let's just be honest to ourselves and make a deal. I'll get a divorce from you but give you full rulership in the divorce so I'll no longer be royal so I'll finally be free of the crown and you get the kingdom you desire and you'll be able to rule alone...do we have a deal?'

Because it seems like a possibility and could lead into a scene of red velvet being like 'but creme brulee...I...OK I confess, throughout our dates, it began as me just trying to court you to marry you to get your kingdom but as I courted you....I heard the beautiful melody of your heart and I truly fell in love with you. I now don't want JUST the kingdom, I want the kingdom AND . Hell, if I had to choose between the kingdom and you now, I'd choose you every time now! So please...stay with me...you'll never feel trapped with me. I promise you, you will have a voice with me...just be my spouse and I promise to make you the happiest king of all the land.' Or something like that...just a brain storm I wanted to share.

Again...too shy to show my face because idk if thought is good or bad...sorta the idea of creme brulee trying to rip off a bandaid and make a solution that would benefit both and make red velvet have a chance to go 'wait no, but I actually fell for you!'

You got it! You got the vibes my AU has laid out for you because this is exactly what i want!!!! Yeeessss!!! I absolutely NEED Red Velvet Cookie to fall extremely HARD for Creme Brulee Cookie!! I do want to just skip to the confession scene already, but it's fun to build there, you know? I am really tempted to just write a ficlet with them if the comic pages become too overwhelming.

But yes please engage with my AU thank you so much anon for sharing this idea! I love the theme of them being a war song raaahhh They are very cute!!! People should look at them more!!

[nightmarefuele]

@huntershowl //starter from the Ren.

||

The thing represents their blindness. It’s a transport shuttle with all its parts ungreased, all dead. They’re stunted to an old age by the remnant vistas of their power as though it still is what only was, at one prior time, advancement.

The shuttle’s present dwellers—like limbs of a breathing weapon—know steeper powers.

They don’t fear us.

That one, crawling into the recondite film of the Shadow, is Vermis; passerby, or patron, fingering into such ant-bitten places as to turn out the innermost of wounds. There are several corners here in the belly of the shuttle, which now glides over a wall like a colosseum’s cracked ring around an outfit of unlit craters—the preferential truth beneath any great rule. She keeps to one whilst bleeding over all the others, scrawling her vapors over the porthole whereon her neuranium exoskull hooks.

They don’t know us.

This muck their ship courts, well, it’s no wonder. Before long, however, the droid valet—whose likeness is man enough that he gives his unimportance away, overstrung in the spine where he pilots at deck’s fore, perhaps a serf or experiment but altogether useless to the Ren—takes them down from the murk of the stratos. The shuttle folds like an insect into a wet handhold. Into sight, they sink.

A shadow unspools from its crouch and becomes a monolith across two strides. It hangs over the half-droid’s back, and gazes out into the Dusk’s bleak quick.

A child’s eyes might see nothing. The night might have scooped out the world from beneath them, replaced it with something breathing and sick. But the monolith—Kylo, the body, the one they have already begun to call, simply, Ren—has witnessed such nothings as to lay the black beneath them naked.

“What is it?” Vermis wonders, materializing there, her voice like a hangnail throbbing.

And Ren, like the low, skulking crackle of dry bone, “An ocean.”

Within the void clutch, a mount, whose age could be any or none. Ren holds there, the city and life already forgotten as solidity drags underway, with his formless, glistening eye like a mouth roused to open.

Then, as their course shifts, “And this?”

Inorganic death, sprawling for miles across a shipyard. Those of oblique, hostile fingers slouched along a sandbed, perhaps the fortuitous shrine of some humanoid ship; or white, milky ovoids like shapeless spiders’ eggs, clusters under clusters of energy staring out from the side of a hill; and here—approaching—the formless dance of light from sources unseeable, steepling toward the great house like a thousand airborne coelenterate.

The pilot catches himself between answers. He, unlike the Ren, has never witnessed anything.

But he does now—Vermis leans around the controls, small, boneless thing that she appears to be, and settles her pin eyes deep.

“Enough.”

The eyes leap to Ren like floating red germs.

“They will show us.”

|||

The attendant ogles them as though they are the lucky ones.

To see inside the invisible, then, is even among their own such a privilege–and the deeper their small company wades, a dark blur encroaching on the periphery of a monument, a dome, the further the cipher appears to coil. The smell, too, emits a facade; a feat of nature, a sweet place for the sun, to enshroud what dust and depth crawl underneath.

Vermis thinks the attendant should feel lucky to keep his eyes hereafter.

Instead, once upon the iris’ vault, he halts; he holds to his silence like a celibate; he puts his back to his master’s vaulting door, and waits.

[nrilliree]

Tbh, everyone keeps saying they found the chemistry between Matt and Milly very hot but personally, I feel very grossed out every time they were together, even on the bridge of Dragonstone. Idk but knowing the dynamic between them as well as the age gap between the actors, it just grosses me out. As for Emma not having a good chemistry with Matt, I think it was intentional. It was supposed to be wooden and mechanical, because Rhaenyra is no longer a child, therefore an object of fascination to Daemon. Now Rhaenyra is older, a mother of 3. She's much grown but still idolizes him. He uses her again, this time mostly to fulfill his thirst for power for the Iron Throne, whereas he previously desired her for both power and pedophilic attraction. A lot of people ship Daemyra are either unaware or being completely aware that it's a relationship between an abuser and his victim. The power dynamic is off kilter and very skewed. I really hope the scene below in season 2 will open their eyes. Better late than never.

https://www.tumblr.com/softsweetmela/751555613328310272/can-i-just-say-how-refreshing-it-is-to-have-a?source=share

And these people think they are intelligent ? Not only do they sound completely ridiculous, but they also disgust me for being happy to follow and adhere to the showrunners' misguided view of adding physical violence to the Daemyra relationship. And once again, the definition of grooming and pedophilia is available in one click on the internet. It amazes me to see so many of our people use such important and serious big words in a situation that absolutely does not lend itself to it. Also, history books and / or historical research to understand what a historical context is and what it implies are not for dogs.

I would really like to understand what they see as grooming in the show ?

Nothing inappropriate is suggested on Daemon's side as long as Rhaenyra is not of age by the standards of Westeros and our modern standards.

He is literally in a relationship with Mysaria.

He is introduced to us as not often at court and has his own affairs to manage between first his work as leader of the goldcloaks and then his quarrels with Viserys.

The fact that he gives Rhaenyra a simple necklace is not proof of grooming. It mostly seems like a nod to the many gifts mentioned that he always gave Rhaenyra upon returning from his travels, as well as emphasizing their deep connection in comparison to their relationship with Viserys.

Rhaenyra seems to have a crush on Daemon, but Daemon doesn't seem to do anything inappropriate about it.

The only moment where Daemon finally seems to have an real ambiguous interest in Rhaenyra before episode 4 is in episode 2, on the bridge, when he sees 15-year-old Rhaenyra (I remind you that at this age, girls in Westeros are considered marriageable) making her flash and she defeats him.

Then, he found her years later when she was 19 and they spent an evening together where he seduced her and she very willingly let herself be seduced, and in the end, Daemon can't even go through with it his objective which yes, certainly, was not very noble.

But to call it grooming ? WTF ?

Not to mention the fact that Rhaenyra's age, from episode 1, disqualifies her from being able to belong to the definition of pedophilia in the case of Daemon.

As you said, we could talk about ephebophile, but there is in fact no tangible proof, especially because we are in a different historical context compared to the vision of the age, but also because Daemon was in couple with adult women both according to Westeros society and our modern society.

He was in a relationship with Mysaria, an adult, married an adult Rhaenyra, did not seem to be put off by Laena when she was an adult, and in the cut scenes, Daemon literally fucked an adult man.

So no. Even ephebophile doesn't work. Daemon is simply a man who lives in a feudal society where age is not perceived as in ours and overall he has relationships with individuals of any type of age as long as these people are legal according to the standards of his society (book or show) which... is not technically shocking.

Again, the people who are offended have probably never opened a history book, done historical research, or even taken basic history classes.

That or they are stupid or deliberately obtuse.

Again, the definitions of grooming and pedophile are freely available on the internet.

There is no excuse for such a lack of logic / common sense in my eyes.

I would also dare to add that all this is probably also due to an increasingly ridiculous hypocritical purity culture in media analysis... Which for some reason is becoming more and more important.

It's not for nothing that most people giving this kind of speech about Daemyra / Daemon are mainly TG (so Aegon II stans, among other disgusting things...), Team Smalfolk and or Alicent stans after all...

The fact is that I'm tired of seeing these stupid people show off their science with big words to give themselves moral superiority, while the definitions are very easily found... And I don't understand that so many people can adhere to this bullshit.

TG stans really don't like it when you accuse them of their lack of logic and knowledge of the definitions of the words they so eagerly use. Just look:

They will use any argument, even the most absurd and strange, just to justify themselves and make themselves look better. All the time, they create themselves and their favorites as victims of the system, and they strive to show that TB are just as bad or even worse.

Aegon is a rapist? Daemon is a pedophile and rapist! Aemond is a psychopath, a bully and a murderer? Rhaenyra's children are spoiled bastards who are just like Joffrey, they have no feelings and are completely bully! Alicent is a lying traitor with no real honor? Rhaenyra is a lying whore!

It gets to a point where they have run out of arguments and the fact that "Daemon had an affair with Nettles" is not enough and can be disproved by "Daemon may be Nettles' father" that now they are creating a theory that… Daemon is her father, he knows it and at the same time has an affair with her :P!

They just want to feel like they're the good guys. That's why they slander TB, compare TG to the Stark family from GoT (and TB to the Lannisters), create their strange theories and cast slander, and then react aggressively when you disagree with them. Because they probably know that TG are the "bad guys" and they don't like it.

I block them, but when I see a real absurdity that got into my searches through the filter, sometimes I can't let it go :P They will still be outraged and portray themselves as persecuted victims, so what? Let them live in their imaginary world, the series will end one day and they will be left with nothing.

[beardedmrbean]

Infamous arms dealer Viktor Bout is reportedly back to his old ways less than two years after his release from U.S. custody in a prisoner swap for WNBA star Brittney Griner.

The Wall Street Journal reported that, when emissaries from Yemen’s militant Houthi movement visited Moscow in August to negotiate a $10 million arms purchase, they encountered the man known as Vladimir Putin’s “Merchant of Death.”

The polyglot former Soviet intelligence officer turned to arms dealing after the Cold War, buying up enough surplus Soviet-era military equipment to seed his gun-running into a global enterprise that brought in hundreds of millions in revenue by selling to militant groups in Africa, Asia, and the Americas.

His alleged former clients include terrorist group al Qaeda and the guerrilla Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia (FARC), as well as Western governments. He won the moniker “Sanctions Buster” for his ability to get around restrictive trade measures and his story even inspired a middling 2005 Nicolas Cage movie, for which a sequel is in the works (mercifully, Cage did not try to put on a Russian accent).

One of the world’s most wanted men, Bout was arrested in 2008 in Thailand in a sting by the Royal Thai Police and the U.S. Drug Enforcement Administration. In 2012, he was convicted in a Manhattan federal court of trafficking arms to terrorists and sentenced to 25 years in prison.

Citing a European security official and others familiar with the August meeting in Moscow, the Journal reported that the Houthis’ arms purchase is a relatively small one, consisting of automatic weapons including AK-74s that could begin delivery as early as this month under the guise of food shipments.

However, the Houthi members who visited Moscow also inquired about other weapons Russia would be willing to sell, including anti-tank missiles and anti-aircraft weapons, the Journal’s sources said, noting that there’s no evidence Bout would be involved in those deals.

Nevertheless, even the smallest shipment will raise ire in Washington, as the Iran-backed Houthis were put back on a U.S. list of “global terrorist” groups in January.

That followed dozens of attacks by the group on merchant and commercial ships in the Red Sea, which the Houthis say is in protest of the Israel-Hamas war, in which the U.S. government has sent billions in arms to the Israeli Defense Forces.

The Houthis also recently claimed responsibility for attempted drone attacks on Israeli cities that were thwarted by Israel’s air defenses.

Russia, the Journal noted, has limited its involvement in the Middle East conflict, and arming one of the belligerent parties would constitute a notable escalation.

Bout, who said he kept a picture of Putin in his prison cell and is a fervent supporter of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, was elected to a seat in a local legislature last year.

After his release from U.S. custody, he expressed sympathy for Griner, who was sentenced to nine years in a labor camp by Russian authorities for cannabis oil cartridges found in her luggage, in what was seen as a deliberately harsh punishment.

“Of course, I feel, you know, bad or sorry for any person who’s going to be used as a pawn, despite whether they committed something or not,” Bout told ESPN, following his 2022 release in the prisoner swap for Griner.